


Snapshots: Unfinished Ficlets

by strangest_aethers



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Ancient Rome, Arthur is thirsty, But we love her, Cardverse, Celebrity!Alfred, Crack, Drunken Shenanigans, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hungary is a meddling little shit, Ice Skating, Kiku is a rain sprite, Knight!Francis, M/M, Probably ooc, Sharing a Bed, Swimming AU, The Author Regrets Everything, and satan said: let there be unfinished fanfiction on the internet, and they were ROOMMATES, arthur needs to stop, assorted story snippets, because why not, im so sorry, knight!alfred, not all tags apply to all fics, nothing is finished, pilot AU, they are on a flight to New Zealand, why is that not an officially recognised tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangest_aethers/pseuds/strangest_aethers
Summary: A collection of all the Hetalia fics I started but never finished (and never will).There's a lot of USUK but there are other pairings too.Feel free to use any of my AUs :)
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Austria/Prussia (Hetalia), Denmark/Norway (Hetalia), Finland/Sweden (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Holy Roman Empire/North Italy (Hetalia)
Kudos: 2





	1. USUK - Pilot AU

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah...  
> I've never finished a fic in my life, and now I've long since left the fandom, there's basically no chance these will ever be finished. At least by posting them here they can be read rather than just sitting on my laptop.  
> It was a ton of fun collecting them all together and reminiscing, so I hope you enjoy!  
> If you'd like to use any of the ideas or AUs, go ahead! if you'd like to use any of what I wrote then please link to this fic or credit me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is awkward, Arthur is awkward, I am awkward, everyone is awkward. I am so sorry

‘Hey, Arthur?’ Mumbled Alfred, still looking away.

‘What is it?’

‘When we get off this flight, if you’re free, d’you... wanna get a coffee together? J-just from one of the airport cafés, I mean, it’s nothing special or anything, I just thought it would be real nice to do it together... with you... y’know?’

There was a long pause, and Alfred’s heart began to drop. Maybe he’d been too bold, and Arthur would refuse him. Thinking about it, he probably should have waited until they landed so if he did say no, he wouldn’t be stuck in the cockpit with him for an indefinite amount of time.

‘Git.’ Said Arthur finally, slapping him lightly upside the head, and for a terrifying second, Alfred was certain he would refuse, but as Alfred finally looked over at him again, he caught a glimpse of a rare, delighted smile on his lips, and there was no mistaking the deep red blush dusted across his cheeks that was rapidly creeping up to his earlobes. It was an adorable sight, and the closest Alfred knew he would get to a ‘yes’ in the language of Arthur, and he split into a wide, jubilant grin.

‘Really?! Awesome! That sounds perfect- I mean, it sounds wonderful- uh, yeah.’ He turned his gaze back to the horizon, the golden streaks of sunlight beginning to outline the earth in brilliant red light. ‘That sounds great.’ He said quietly, smiling at Arthur. He felt he could almost explode from happiness and excitement.

‘Quite.’ Said Arthur, curling his slender fingers around the plane’s controls. ‘Now turn the brightness of your grin down, you’ll outshine the sunrise.’ He chided gently with a blush and a tiny smile still playing on his lips.

‘Yessir!’ Joked Alfred, grin still fixed firmly in place as he mock saluted and checked his watch. ‘We’re almost there, I’ll give the announcements.’

Adjusting his headset microphone slightly, he gave some brief instructions to the crew as Arthur checked their instruments, before giving the passengers the announcement that they were about to land.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We thought we’d let you know that we’re almost there with about 20 minutes to go, so could you please fasten your seatbelts once again. It’s been a long flight and I’m sure you’re all impatient to land, and I can tell you that I sure am; (and with a playful wink at Arthur he added,) I’ve just scored myself a date to look forward to when we touch down!’ He dodged a swipe from a steadily reddening Arthur, adding ‘We hope you enjoyed your flight!’ quickly before terminating the announcement.

Arthur sputtered, blushing madly. ‘You git! That was bloody unprofessional.’ But he was smiling as he spoke.

‘But I’m excited!’ Alfred grinned back. “Don’t tell me you aren’t?”

If possible, Arthur blushed even deeper. ‘What do you think?’

‘Mmhmm, definitely!’

‘Whatever you say.’

Alfred wanted to kiss him oh-so-badly, but repressed the urge (with some difficulty) and told himself firmly that _that_ would have to wait, at the very least until they landed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one while waiting to catch a plane (big surprise there lol). It's unfinished basically because I couldn't come up with a beginning, so I ended up only writing the confession part. The only other thing I had for this was Arthur saying, "Alfred, stop looking out the window and concentrate on flying the damn plane!" because we all know Alfred would absolutely be as excited as a child in a candy shop whenever the plane takes off, even if it's his literal job. I couldn't find a way to work it into the fic though, so it will have to remain forever in the notes.


	2. USUK - Modern AU: Meeting on a plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they were SEATMATES!  
> Arthur and Alfred sit next to each other on a flight to New Zealand. It's a long 17 hours to have to spend in silence, so they soon get to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have another fic about planes - this one was written on the flight. I had a lot of fun writing this, but got stuck with how to link it all together, so all I have are a bunch of vaguely disjointed parts.

Arthur looked up from his book as someone loudly put their bag in the luggage holster above his head, the zips clinking and the bag landing with a thud in the overhead container. A young man was standing on his tiptoes, stretching up to push his bag right to the back. It was clear that he was trying not to invade Arthur’s personal space, but it wasn’t really working all that well. Arthur leaned away slightly in order not to get a face full of shirt.

He supposed this would be his seat-mate for the journey- after all, he was traveling alone, so it was to be expected that he should have someone sitting next to him for the duration of the flight.

The young man finished putting his bags away and slid the door of the cabinet shut with a click before settling back down off his tiptoes to stand normally, a small backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked at Arthur, and then squinted through his glasses up at the ceiling above his head to read the aisle and seat number.

‘Hey, this is 32B, right?’ He asked, despite having just read the number seconds earlier. Arthur nodded and gave a noncommittal grunt. American. He should have known. The American beamed at him.

‘Great! Well, ok, umm, here,’ and he inexplicably handed Arthur his backpack, who took it, bewildered. ‘You take this, and I’ll...’ with a motion for Arthur to lean back, he placed a foot on the aisle armrest and clambered awkwardly over Arthur before plunking himself heavily into the window seat. He gave a dramatic exhale before taking the bag from Arthur, who was really not quite sure how to react to what had just happened. It certainly wasn’t a normal, everyday thing for someone to climb over you just to get to their seat- the normal, gentlemanly thing to do, (and what he would have done had he been given just a little more time to react) would be for him to get out of his own seat to let the man sit down before sitting back down again himself. However, that was most certainly not what had just happened. And, rather embarrassingly, when the man had clambered over him he had been faced with a sliver of skin and muscle under his shirt, and (Arthur had to admit), it was rather impressive. But that was completely inappropriate for the situation anyway; he had hardly even met the man. To top it all off, he looked far younger than Arthur himself. So no, he berated himself. Not okay.

Having finally settled himself in his seat, backpack on the floor in between his feet, the stranger turned to face Arthur and stuck his hand out with a grin. A little hesitantly, Arthur shook it. ‘So hey dude, nice to meet you! My name’s Alfred.’ His blue eyes twinkled excitedly from behind his glasses (that framed his face very well, Arthur thought, and then immediately suppressed it and mentally scolded himself once more).

‘Quite.’ Arthur replied. ‘Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, a pleasure or otherwise, but he thought it best to be polite nevertheless.

Introductions safely over, Alfred promptly plugged his headphones into his DS and proceeded to play some form of video game involving pixelated monsters.

Arthur fought the urge to cluck his tongue. How rude! Alfred had hardly introduced himself before he plugged himself in and ignored the rest of the world.

Irritated, Arthur turned back to his book. The rest of the plane was quickly filling up, the air filled with the quiet murmur of people finding their seats and stowing their bags, with an undercurrent of that strange, sterile aeroplane silence that seems to permeate everywhere on the aircraft. Arthur lost himself in the plot of the book until he finally felt the plane begin to move along the runway with a lurch when he looked up to see the overhead televisions out and beginning to play the safety video. A few paces away down the aisle, a couple of air hostesses stood, giving the mandatory safety brief at the beginning of every flight. Arthur noticed with a slight twinge of embarrassment on Alfred’s behalf that the air hostesses nearest them kept shooting Alfred irritated looks, the latter being still completely absorbed in his game. Clearing his throat softly, Arthur leaned over and tapped Alfred on the shoulder. Immediately Alfred snapped his head up from his game and turned to face Arthur, taking an earphone out as he did so.

‘Mmhmm?’

Arthur leaned subtly closer, glancing back over at the air hostess, who was currently occupied in demonstrating how the airplane seatbelts worked.

‘The safety briefing has started.’ He said quietly, and then, realising that he sounded silly, added, ‘the air hostess kept giving you irritated looks.’

Alfred laughed, much too loudly for a time when he was supposed to be listening, earning himself another sharp glare from the woman standing in the aisle. ‘Dude, chill. I’ve seen so many of these by now that I could probably instruct them if I wanted. Don’t worry about it. And hey, it’s finished now, anyway.’

Arthur sighed inwardly. ‘I suppose so. We’re about to be in the air now, anyway.’

Alfred nodded, grinning.

‘I love flying. It’s such a cool feeling.’ He turned to look out of the window at the ground rapidly receding below him. Arthur followed suit, leaning slightly further out so he could see around Alfred’s head. Luckily this time Alfred seemed to sense that he needed to move, and moved his head slightly so that Arthur could see. They watched as clouds streaked past the small window.

‘Quite.’ Said Arthur, entranced by the way the sun reflected off the tops of the thick blanket of clouds as they rose higher and higher. He swallowed to clear his ears from the pressure.

‘I’d love to be able to do this one day. Flying, I mean,’ Said Alfred wistfully, not taking his eyes from the window. ‘Maybe even go to space.’ He chuckled lightly. ‘But I’m not smart enough for that!’

Arthur gave a small frown. ‘Don’t put yourself down, lad. I’m sure you can manage anything you put your mind to.’ He blushed slightly, realising how stupid that must have sounded the instant he said it. But he saw Alfred smile.

‘Thanks, dude.’

He felt a little less stupid after that.

* * *

Once they had levelled off, the air hostesses came round with a trolley of drinks. Arthur got himself a cup of tea, while Alfred got a can of coca-cola and a cup with ice. They both wrinkled their noses at the other’s choice of drink.

‘Tea?’ Asked Alfred as soon as Arthur lifted the steaming cup to his lips. ‘What are you, and old man?’ Arthur turned to him, noticing the playful glitter in his eyes and his amused smile.

‘Tea is a very noble drink with a sophisticated flavour, and besides, I find it relaxing,’ Arthur replied, meeting his gaze evenly, his own lips twitched up in amusement. ‘But at least I’m not drinking a suspicious concoction of chemicals, acid and copious amounts of sugar.’

Alfred took a long sip of coke, eyes fixed on Arthur, crinkling with laughter behind his glasses.

‘Well, at least I’m not drinking leaf juice.’

Arthur sputtered indignantly, almost spilling his tea.

‘Leaf juice?!’

‘Yeah dude! Y’know, the leaves have water in them, so you dehydrate them, and then you just put the water back in but this time it’s hot! It’s just leaf juice!’

Arthur crossed his arms and huffed at Alfred.

‘Well.’ He said, but couldn’t think of a response.

* * *

‘Why do you do that?’ Asked Arthur quizzically as Alfred proceeded to clamber awkwardly over him again on the way back from the bathroom. He leaned back in his seat slightly to try and make room for the man to get through and forcing his eyes to look anywhere but that tantalising bit of skin left exposed under Alfred’s shirt. ‘It’s very unorthodox. I don’t mind moving, you know.’

‘I dunno, dude.’ Alfred replied, plonking himself down again in his seat and buckling his seatbelt. ‘It’s much more interesting this way. And besides, you don’t have to worry about going to all the effort of getting up, right? In the end, it’s a win-win!’ He grinned widely at his own genius.

‘I see...’ mumbled Arthur, slightly miffed and still unconvinced. But in the back of his mind, a little voice was telling him that he really didn’t mind... after all, every time Alfred decided he wanted to move from his seat, Arthur was graced with a rather nice view...

His thoughts were snapped back from that very dangerous line of thinking by Alfred’s voice and a hand waving in front of his face. He blinked.

‘Hello? Arthur, dude, you’re spacing out. Earth to Arthur?’

Arthur brushed the hand away with a small frown, willing his blush away.

‘Yes, yes, you git, I’ve landed. What do you want?’

Alfred grinned and held up his DS.

‘Ever played Pokèmon?’

* * *

Half an hour later, Arthur still had no idea what was going on. Alfred had effectively been playing the game for him, instructing him what to do at every step. At first, even the controls had been difficult, and he’d kept pushing the wrong bloody buttons all the time. Once he’d sort of got the hang of which buttons to push when, he then tried to focus more on the game’s strategy. Alfred had tried to explain it to him, and it seemed simple enough, but grasping it was clearly proving to be a challenge, and it didn’t help that Alfred kept changing his mind on what attack to use halfway through. He seemed to be getting more and more into it, getting louder and louder and frequently hollering bouts of ‘nononono!’ and ‘yesyesye-noooo!!!’ as Arthur fumbled around with the controls on the small screen.

Eventually Alfred threw his hands in the air in surrender. ‘I don’t know how you do it, man! I’ve never met anyone who is as bad as you!’

‘Well, I’m sorry that I don’t spend hours on end wracking my brains over tiny, pixelated monsters!’

‘Well dude, I dunno. Maybe I shouldn’ta put you up against Misty; she’s pretty hard to beat, I haven’t even beaten her myself yet.’

‘Ha! So you admit it was your fault!’

‘Well, not entirely, but you were literally terrible! How could you not even know the controls?’

‘I’ve never even played anything remotely similar before; what did you expect?’

Alfred turned to him in shock. ‘You’ve never played before? Like, any game? Not like, Zelda, or Super Mario or Pokèmon or anything like that?’ Arthur shook his head no and Alfred gaped. ‘Dude, we have to change that. I practically grew up on that stuff!

‘Ah, well maybe that explains why your eyes have failed you at such a young age.’

‘Hey!’

Arthur grinned at him. ‘I was only joking and you know it. But you’re right, I haven’t played anything, really. I mostly used to read as a kid.’

Alfred leant back in his chair, hands behind his head. ‘Phew. That probably explains it. Man, I bet you just set a record for how badly you sucked.’

He dodged a slap from his right and grinned. ‘Just kidding and you know it.’

* * *

About twelve and a half hours into the flight, Alfred awoke with the desperate need to use the bathroom. He had slept for a solid seven or eight hours and felt pretty refreshed, even if airplane seats are notoriously uncomfortable to fall asleep in. Now his systems had caught up with him, and nature called.

There was only one problem.

He was trapped.

Arthur had fallen asleep about half an hour before Alfred did, and during that time, the deeper he fell into sleep, the more he relaxed, and, with the armrest in between their seats raised out of the way, Arthur had effectively used Alfred as his pillow. He was currently fast asleep on Alfred’s shoulder, breathing deeply and evenly, features smooth and relaxed. If Alfred turned his head, he realised with a blush that he could bury his nose in Arthur’s mop of tousled blond hair that rested heavily on his shoulder. He did so, heart stuttering, and breathed deeply the scent of Arthur’s hair. It smelled, somewhat unsurprisingly, of tea and old, well-worn books, and it was so typical of Arthur that Alfred couldn’t help but smile.

But smelling someone’s hair was slightly creepy, so Alfred reluctantly allowed himself one last inhale before wrenching himself away.

However, all this didn’t change the fact that he still needed to go. So, as gently as he could, he tried to manoeuvre himself into a good position to escape. Very carefully, he lifted Arthur’s arm from where it had fallen and carefully pushed his head back to the center of his own seat. Silently, he cursed his body’s bad timing- if he was honest, this was kinda nice. Alfred very slowly lifted one leg onto his seat, attempting to anchor himself out before clambering over Arthur.

He was halfway there when Arthur began to stir beside him. With a sinking heart, Alfred watched his eyebrows furrow slightly before his eyes opened a crack, emerald green glinting dimly in the darkness. Arthur grumbled something unintelligible before facing Alfred tiredly.

‘Alfred?’ He asked groggily.

Alfred gave him a small smile. ‘Yeah it’s me, dude. Sorry I woke you up, but I needed to go to the bathroom.’

Arthur groaned in response. Gently, Alfred tousled his hair, heart skipping a beat. ‘Go back to sleep.’ He said. ‘I’ll be back in a bit.’ With that he left Arthur to bury his face back into his blanket.

When he got back, the serenity had gone from Arthur’s face and was instead replaced with a sleepy sort of scowl. It was really kinda cute, thought Alfred, before realising what he’d just allowed his brain to think and blushing deeply. He clambered over the armrest again, this time being careful not to wake his seat-mate, but it seemed Arthur had already been awake, for he opened one eye and fixed Alfred with a sleepy glare.

‘Took you long enough, git. I was comfortable.’ He mumbled into Alfred’s shoulder, and he chuckled, reaching over to rearrange the blankets that had slipped off Arthur’s shoulders, sleep beginning to catch up with him. He yawned, cheeks reddening, and he reached an arm to rest around Arthur’s shoulders. The other man snuggled closer, mind shrouded with sleep, sighing deeply.

‘Sleep well Artie.’ Whispered Alfred, stomach fluttering, but Arthur had already gone back to sleep.

* * *

The pair were awoken rather forcefully some three hours later by the cabin lights turning on. Alfred rubbed at his eyes under his glasses and Arthur glared groggily at everything in sight.

They both sat up, Alfred stretching as high as he could.

‘Mornin’ sunshine!’ He chirped brightly. ‘How d’you sleep?’

‘Tea.’ Muttered Arthur. ‘I need tea.’

Alfred chuckled and stretched higher in his seat, craning his neck and looking around the cabin to see if the refreshment cart was on its way. Thankfully it was, so Arthur needn’t wait long.

When they had both ordered themselves hot drinks (black coffee for Alfred and tea with milk and two sugars for Arthur), they sat in silence, sipping their drinks and pointedly looking anywhere but each other.

* * *

Alfred wolfed his food down in a matter of minutes, eyes glued to the tv screen, while Arthur ate his slowly, casting amused glances over to his left every now and again.

* * *

‘So, why New Zealand?’ Asked Arthur. ‘Do you have family out there?

‘Actually, I’m off on my gap year.’ Grinned Alfred.

‘Oh?’ Arthur swallowed nervously. Suddenly Alfred seemed a lot younger than he had before. Yes, his earlier thoughts had been right- that was a very dangerous line of thinking.

‘Yeah. It’s technically only my first stop, but I travelled round the states for a bit before. This is my first time actually flying anywhere outside of the states, especially alone.’ He chuckled. ‘Mom was really worried, but she didn’t need to be; I’m fine- I’m this world’s Hero after all!’ He saluted, sitting up proudly and shooting Arthur a wink which made his stomach flutter. He swallowed nervously again and hoped that Alfred didn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks. ‘My twin brother Mattie has gone off to play professional ice hockey in Canada, so my parents are finally rid of us!’ He grinned widely. ‘How 'bout you?’

‘I, uh- wait, what?!’ Said Arthur intelligently. He had been completely enraptured with Alfred’s blinding smile that it took him a few seconds to remember where he was. ‘Me? Well... that is... are you sure you really want to know?’ He laughed awkwardly. ‘It’s not very interesti-‘

‘Dude, of course it’s interesting. It’s you.’ Interrupted Alfred suddenly, and Arthur knew there was no hiding his blush this time around. His fluttering stomach and Alfred’s (surprisingly gentle) smile served to completely derail his train of thought once again. ‘I er...’ he cleared his throat, determinedly setting himself back on track. ‘Alfred.’ He said firmly. ‘It really is not that interesting.’

But his resolve crumbled when he was faced with a pleading blue pair of puppy-dog eyes. ‘Dude. C’mon.’

Arthur sighed in resignation. ‘Fine. I was... well, you see, I...’ he cleared his throat again. ‘I was told to take mandatory time off work.’ He finished quietly, face reddening with shame. Somehow, having to tell Alfred, despite all the other people he’d had to tell, and how that bloody frog had more than deserved it; somehow now, he felt like a child who had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

‘Dude. No way!’ Arthur looked up, startled, at the surprise in Alfred’s voice. ‘You’re shitting me.’ Said Alfred. ‘What did you do?’

‘I er...’ Arthur trailed off once again. ‘I punched a coworker in the face.’ There it was. Plain as day. He felt dread begin to grow heavy in the pit of his stomach as Alfred did not reply. He kept his head bowed, too ashamed now to face him. 

For a second Alfred sat in shocked silence, and Arthur worried that he had scared him away. Just when he was beginning to be so warm towards him. But then he laughed.

‘No way.’ He said again. ‘No way! You’re shitting me. You? Stuffy old man Arthur Kirkland, punched someone in the face? Wow. I never would have guessed, dude.’ He gave Arthur a strong slap on the back. ‘Honestly, from what I’ve seen of you so far, I feel like whatever the guy did to make you mad at him, he probably deserved it.’ He gave Arthur an encouraging smile. ‘I’m impressed though. You don’t look like the type.’ He grinned. ‘There’s a guy I’d like to break the jaw of if I got the chance.’

Arthur looked up, surprised. ‘Really? “The hero” turns to violence? Who could it possibly be to make you of all people angry?’

Alfred grinned. ‘Big guy. Russian. Thinks he’s intimidating. Probably hunts bears in his spare time.’ Alfred made a face and Arthur laughed.

‘So there we have it then.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, disclaimer - I've never played Pokèmon and know nothing about it, so I have no idea whether Misty is easy or hard to beat; I literally just asked my friends for names of gym leaders haha


	3. SuFin - Modern/Human AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College graduate Berwald Oxenstierna has no job, no money, and no direction in life. That is, until he finds a mysterious flyer that may just turn his life on it's head if he'd just give it the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance

Snow still covered the rooftops by the time Berwald decided it was high time that he should do something about his life. It was early January and he was stuck with no job, no house, no money, very few friends, and no idea of what to do next. Having graduated from college earlier in the year, at the very least he had a degree, but unfortunately, he now also had a debt that it seemed he was never going to be able to pay off. Especially not with the way the employment side of things was shaping up - every single interview he went to seemed to entail the interviewer sweating profusely and squirming uncomfortably in his or her seat, before telling Berwald that he was simply ‘too scary’, and that he would just end up scaring all prospective customers away. Without a job, he was currently unable to do much for himself, which frustrated him greatly.

Even more frustrating was the person whose couch he was currently living on - Matthias Køhler, idiot extraordinaire, and Berwald’s only friend. ‘Friend’ was a strong word, however, and after a little consideration, one would realise that ‘frenemy’ would be more appropriate to describe the two’s relationship. Berwald - a generally quiet, kind hearted and stoic guy - didn’t mix all too well with the likes of Matthias - overenthusiastic, overbearing, over-annoying; over _-everything_. The two had met through college, both of them happening to be studying world history and international relations and had struck up an odd friendship of sorts. What made it work, Berwald would never know, particularly with their two very opposite personalities. Although, in fairness, Matthias definitely had his fair share of thoughtful moments, and it was one of those that had prompted him to offer to share his apartment with Berwald until he was able to afford his own. Of course, in an ideal world, Berwald could have easily declined, but, having no choice, accepted the offer somewhat reluctantly. He intended to move out as soon as humanly possible, though, and so was looking to find a job almost obsessively.

Besides the issue of a job, Berwald was a little stuck. Sure, he had qualifications, he had good grades. But what to _do_ with those grades and qualifications was an entirely separate matter. Berwald had taken to strolling about town, trying desperately to find a spark of inspiration in the cold of winter for a career that he would enjoy enough to continue with.

It was on one of these walks that he noticed a flyer decorated in bold, colourful letters stapled at one end to a telephone pole. It was being blown about by the wind, precariously close to being ripped from the weak clutches of the staple. He finished the job before the wind could and removed the battered flyer from the pole.

 _“Where Am I Now?”_ the title read. Silently hoping that this was the solution he’d been looking for, Berwald continued reading.

 _“Fresh out of college and clueless about your next step? Don’t know what career is right for you? If that sounds like you, then join us for a fun, friendly and informative week-long workshop addressing any concerns or fears you may have about starting working life, and preparing you for life in the wider world! If you’re interested, just call Elizaveta Héderváry on the number below!”_ The flyer concluded with the number to call, as well as some more information on the dates and venue.

Berwald frowned down at the paper in his hand. The flyer was written in such a way that made him want to put it back right where he found it and walk away, but that would involve prying the staple from the wood, unfolding it and then pushing it back in with the flyer attached, and that really seemed like a bit too much effort for a bit of paper. But the content of the flyer seemed all too promising to ignore.

Berwald remained standing in the middle of the street, ankle deep in snow with the winter wind whipping around him, scrutinising the flyer. No one passed him on the street; the frigid weather meant that most people stayed indoors where it was warm. After a few minutes, as the cold began to seep into his boots, Berwald decided he should just go through with it. With gloved hands he fished about in his pockets to retrieve his cell. Somewhat clumsily, he punched in the number listed on the sheet, and pressed ‘call’.

After three rings, Berwald was beginning to consider hanging up. His feet were cold and the wind was bitter, and standing in the middle of the street with no one else around to call a number on a weird flyer really didn’t seem like the best idea he’d ever had. But before he could terminate the call, it went through.

At first, he heard nothing but a frantic fumbling on the other end of the line. He was opening his mouth, about to speak when he was beaten to it by the person who had picked up.

“Uh, Hello?”

“’Lo. C’n I speak to M’ss Héderváry please?”

More fumbling. “Ah, _hai_ \- I mean, yes, of course. Please hold on just one second!” the voice receded into the background briefly, and Berwald could only look back at the flyer in his hand. Just what was he doing? “Elizaveta-San? There is someone on the phone for you!” There was a brief exchange, too quiet to make out, before a bright, cheery young woman’s voice bubbled through the phone’s tinny speaker.

“Hello? This is Elizaveta Héderváry. How may I help you today?”

Berwald cleared his throat before continuing. “I saw th’ flyer. I, um, thought I should sign up.”

On the other end of the line, Elizaveta laughed, strangely nervously. “Just to avoid any confusion, which flyer in particular…?” Which flyer? Just what was this woman up to?

“Th’ one on th’ tel’phone pole.”

“Yes, but what was the heading? All of the flyers are on telephone poles.”

“Pard’n?”

Elizaveta sighed almost inaudibly before trying again. “Was the flyer advertising,” and here she paused, as if to begin a list, “A workshop for post-college, dance lessons, the yaoi society, advanced swordplay, or baking lessons?”

Now Berwald was more confused than ever, and growing ever more concerned about just what on earth he was getting himself into. What kind of crazy range of skills did this woman possess? And what on earth was ‘yaoi’? At this rate, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out. “Er, ‘t was th’ w’rkshop.” At least that seemed like the safest option out of that list. Suddenly Elizaveta laughed happily again, snapping Berwald out of his frenzy of concerned thoughts.

“Right, right, of course! And why were you calling? Would you like some information about what we will be doing over the week of the workshop? Or would you already like to sign up?” Berwald couldn’t help but feel that she sounded a little relieved.

“J’st some inf’rmation. Please.” He added quickly, for good measure.

Elizaveta giggled again and Berwald’s concern at the decision he had just made deepened somewhat. “Well,” she began, sounding strangely businesslike. “The workshop is from the third to the eighth of next month, which is in what, three days?” her voice grew slightly quieter as if she were leaning away from the phone. “Yep, three days. It’s not too late to sign up though, but we only have two places left, so you asked at just the right time!” Berwald began to open his mouth to tell her that he had never said he would actually like to sign up, and he had just called the number, but Elizaveta cut him off again. “As it should say on the flyer, the workshop is in the small center for hire at the college, but we are a college-run organisation, anyway!” she chuckled again, and Berwald was now seriously beginning to consider hanging up. But once again, Elizaveta continued talking. “We’ll be covering topics such as career options taking into consideration hobbies, qualifications, previous experiences, etc, and we’ll give you advice on how to go about getting into said career. We’ll also discuss various pros and cons of future options such as further education, getting a temporary job and all those kinds of things.” Berwald shut his mouth. Maybe this whole workshop thing didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Does ‘t cost ‘nythin’?” Asked Berwald once there was a break in the torrent of information Elizaveta had just enthusiastically poured over him.

“Um- I mean, pardon?” Elizaveta coughed slightly, clearing her throat. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Berwald heaved an inward sigh at having to repeat himself. People often found it difficult to understand him due to his gruff voice, brief manner of speaking and thick accent. “Do I h’ve ta pay?” he rephrased, a little louder.

On the other end of the line, Elizaveta made a small noise of understanding. “Nope! It’s completely free, including refreshments and a bunch of handouts. I’ll just take your phone number so we can contact you on any updates regarding the workshop!”

As Berwald dutifully recited his number, marvelling at the inconvenience considering that she could just write down his number from the call, he weighed out the pros and cons of this weird sounding workshop in his mind. On one hand, the people running it seemed to be certifiably insane, running all manner of weird classes ranging from advice for students to swordfighting. But on the other hand, it did sound like the class could be genuinely helpful. Giving another epic mental sigh, he resigned himself to his fate and took the plunge.

“I’d definit’ly like to sign up. Please.”

From the other end of the line, there came a delighted squeal followed by frantic fumbling, sounding like Elizaveta had just dropped the phone. “Right! Awesom- I mean, Excellent, perfect! I’ll take your name then, please? I just realised I didn’t catch it, _istenem_ , I’m so sorry! How rude of me!”

“B’rwald Oxenstierna.” Said Berwald. There was a brief pause in which he could just about hear some frantic scribbling from Elizaveta’s end of the phone, followed by a delighted chuckle.

“Alright Berwald, we’ll look forward to seeing you on Monday! Oh, take the flyer along with you just in case, all the details are on there! Alright, it was nice talking to you! Bye!” she gushed.

Ready to hang up, Berwald gave a curt goodbye, and went to terminate the call, but it sounded like Elizaveta was still speaking, so he lifted it back up to his ear.

Elizaveta’s voice was muffled and very faint, but she could just about still be heard.

“Kiku, this is _perfect_! We have ourselves a new guinea pig!

Berwald’s stomach plummeted to his feet.

_What had he just signed up for!?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY YES IM SORRY I HATE THAT THAT I WROTE THIS  
> This was one of the first fics I wrote. Hetalia being my first fandom, it was also my first chance to explore internet culture, and with Hetalia also being a fairly old and well-established fandom, I came across some things that I didn't fully understand the implications of. Looking back now, I want to throw myself into the ocean at the concept of the "yaoi society," oh my god. My intent was for it to be a careers/life coaching group run by Hungary, Japan and Seychelles which they basically just used to play matchmaker for the people who signed up. I had only a vague idea of what yaoi was and had only seen it thrown around and I just asdfghjkl  
> tl;dr this was written by a young impressionable me who had no idea what she was doing, with the intent to write a fun and lighthearted sufin fic but never quite got there  
> This one was never finished simply because I hadn't really fleshed out the rest of the plot enough to know how to continue with it. I wrote a bit more where Sweden goes home and talks with Denmark about something, but even at the time I didn't think it was that good and I have since lost it. Oh well.


	4. USUK - Human AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Alfred go for a summer cycle ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a human AU set in a (very) small town/village where everyone is neighbours and they all know each other. All the countries are in their late teens, probably ranging from about 16-20ish. They have parents too, but most of the time I I never specified who they are. It's not quite a modern AU just based on technology available (no phones, etc), so think vintage aesthetic.  
> Also, yes, naming things is not my strength. Just roll with it.

It was another glorious day, the sun beaming down from a vibrant sky virtually clear of clouds, only the occasional dusting of white like spun sugar breaking the blue. The temperature was soaring, although cooler than it had been in the past few weeks. Most folk sat inside or under a patch of shade in an attempt to escape the heat, or a few had taken advantage of the unusually hot weather, even for the height of summer, and had taken the hour’s drive down to the beach to cool off in the sea.

“Come for a ride with me.”

Alfred F. Jones stood at the doorway of 16 The Street, eyes fixed determinedly on Arthur Kirkland, who stood inside, a step away from him, green eyes glinting disdainfully. By ‘ride’, of course, Alfred meant cycle. It was somewhat of a tradition the two had shared for the many years by each other’s sides, from when Alfred had arrived in the village at the age of six up until now, ten years later. The two had shared countless rides together through the surrounding countryside, and to do just that was exactly Alfred’s intention that moment.

“In this heat? Are you mad?”

Alfred felt his heart sink just the tiniest little bit at Arthur’s biting tone, but he knew well enough by now that he didn’t mean it.

“Aw, c’mon Arthur, it’ll be nice! I’ve thought of a nice shady route and everything.” That last part was a lie; in actual fact Alfred hadn’t thought any part of this through except for the part about getting to spend time with Arthur. And, he thought as he stood there in the sweltering heat, grinning at the boy in front of him; wasn’t that all that really mattered? But even as he said it, he could see the tiny little traitorous quirk of Arthur’s lips, and he turned away from Alfred to hide the smile. A damn shame, thought Alfred, because Arthur’s smiles were so rare and so beautiful.

“Fine.” Mumbled Arthur with his back turned to Alfred, facing into the house. “I’ll get my bike and meet you outside yours.”

Alfred knew exactly how long it would take Arthur to get his bike as they had timed each other a few years back- one minute and twenty-three seconds exactly. He had to tell himself not to feel giddy with excitement as he walked back to his own house and retrieved his own bicycle from the shed and wheeled it out onto the sidewalk. There he found Arthur waiting for him, leaning his bike up against the wall. He was fiddling uncertainly with the hem of his shirt, and Alfred felt his face split into a delighted grin at the sight. It was so rare to see Arthur out of long sleeves, but in such hot weather, he was forced out of his preferred slacks and sweater vest and into shorts and a t-shirt. Due to being covered up for the majority of the year, Arthur’s skin was normally strikingly pale, but it was beginning to tan after the weeks and weeks of scorching sun and was now a delicate caramel. Once again, Alfred had to catch his breath just looking at him.

“What?” Alfred hadn’t even noticed he was staring until Arthur spoke, somehow managing to sound irritated and embarrassed and fond all at once. As quickly as he could, he snatched up his mess of tangled and mushy thoughts and feelings and shoved them into a vaguely comprehensible order before swinging a leg over the seat of his bicycle to rest on the ground on the other side.

“Nothing,” he gulped, hoping Arthur hadn’t noticed the way his cheeks were beginning to redden out of embarrassment at being caught staring. Hurriedly he pushed down on a pedal, setting the bike in motion. “Let’s go!” he called as he began to cycle down the street.

He glanced over as he heard the _tick_ of Arthur’s chain beside him and the whirr of the tyres on the road. He pushed forward on the pedal, speeding up slightly to allow Arthur to ride behind him in single file while they were on the main road.

“Where are we going?” he heard Arthur call from behind him, voice raised over the wind.

“Somewhere no one will find us!” he called back, feeling his words being snatched away as he spoke.

“Pardon?” came the reply. Alfred considered for a moment. Perhaps it was a good thing that Arthur hadn’t heard. After all, that was a pretty embarrassing thing to have said, right? And Arthur would definitely take it the wrong way…

“I said, you’ll see!” he called instead, louder. He glanced back when there was no reply, but Arthur seemed to have accepted his hasty cover.

As they pedalled out of the village and turned up a steep hill, Alfred switched his bike into a lower gear and considered his current situation. He had no actual plan of where they were going to go, and nor did he know how long they would be out for. Mentally he ran through a list of routes they could take, and decided on a long loop that would take them roughly an hour. It was not too easy that either of them would get bored, and not too hard that they would be tired. And it had some nice places to stop along the way.

He threw a glace over his shoulder at Arthur again and frowned. Why had he asked Arthur to come for a ride with him? Well, it wasn’t as if it was anything out of the ordinary- they had spent years together doing exactly that. But today felt somehow different. Alfred felt giddy happiness at the thought that he and Arthur were going somewhere together- alone- but at the same time he felt that everything was precariously balanced on top of each other in one tall stack, as if it could come crashing down around him at any moment with just one small wrong move. Confused, he shook his head and focused on the road.

When they finally reached the top, both of them were breathing hard, and Alfred wiped the sheen of sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand, and then wiped his hand on his shorts with a smirk directed at Arthur, who was staring at him with a look of disgust.

“It’s too bloody hot for this.” Muttered Arthur, and Alfred felt his heart twist at the thought that Arthur might just outright decide to leave, but Arthur didn’t make any further comment.

The two of them cycled in silence side by side down the quiet country lane, deserted but for the gentle rush of the wind and the occasional chatter of birds in the hedgerows. The trees and bushes lining the road were lush and green, berries and nuts beginning to grow in preparation for autumn. The road beneath their tyres was dappled with lights and darks of shade moving with the breath of wind in the branches. As they cruised past, a squirrel scampered along a high branch and a blackbird hopped away into the undergrowth. It was the kind of scene Arthur loved; like something poetic out of a novel.

He glanced over at the boy in question to find him also gazing at the bushes as they cycled by, a serene smile on his lips, eyes betraying that he was far away, lost deep in his thoughts. Alfred found himself staring at Arthur, his smile growing increasingly sappier the longer he looked for. If he’d stayed staring for any longer Arthur likely would have caught him, so it was somewhat lucky when his front wheel hit a pothole and he was shaken out of his stupor. His chain clattered as the bike bounced and he was caught in a brief struggle to regain control.

The noise snapped Arthur out of his thoughts too, and he turned to look at Alfred, the beautiful smile gone and a concerned little frown in its place. Once again, Alfred felt a little flutter of disappointment.

“Are you okay?” Questioned Arthur, and Alfred flushed a little despite himself.

“Dude, I’m fine; it’s just a pothole.” Alfred grinned and Arthur nodded, turning his eyes back to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too sure where I was going with this one if I'm honest. All my notes for this really say besides a draft of some lines is "ends in USUK fluff because you know me," so this must have been impulsively written when I had the idea in the moment and was never really developed or written down.


	5. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur believes in magic and the like, but Alfred’s not convinced. Arthur sets out to change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as the previous fic.

“Four-leafed clovers? Dude, are you for real?”

Arthur blushed slightly under Alfred’s sceptical gaze, and he could see that alluring light pink dusting his cheeks.

“Yes, I’ve found a good patch not too far from the village. I’d like to investigate its magical potential.” Said Arthur. Alfred rolled his eyes.

“But what I don’t get is why _I_ have to come with you.”

Arthur’s blush deepened and Alfred felt his own cheeks begin to pink slightly and he hurriedly looked away.

“Er, well, it might be dangerous. I mean, I could… er, get lost?” he finished lamely, and Alfred simply gave him a look. “Anyway, just… come with me, okay?” he added, much more quietly, his face turned away. Alfred could still see the tips of his ears which were a brilliant shade of red, and he knew the rest of his face would be a similar color. Alfred had to resist the urge to grab him, pull him down and kiss him; he was simply too adorable. A moment of silence passed between the pair, punctuated only by the warm summer breeze.

“Fine.” Said Alfred eventually, his own cheeks beginning to redden steadily. Arthur looked up sharply.

“What?”

“I’ll come with you!” stammered Alfred. “But just because I’m the hero, and heroes have to protect the people they lo- I mean, you have to have someone to look after you in case you get into any trouble!” he looked away too, certain Arthur had caught his almost-mistake about letting slip his feelings for the other boy, certain his cheeks were even redder than Arthur’s.

Arthur looked back at him, eyes wide with surprise. And then he smiled, and Alfred’s heart stuttered at the sheer beauty of the simple action.

“Thanks.” He smiled, rising from his spot on Alfred’s back lawn, draped in the warm morning sunlight. They had been lying under the old apple tree with its thinning leaves in the dappled shade, talking about everything and anything that came to mind, as they usually did. Alfred treasured these times that he could share with Arthur, as often as they occurred.

Disturbed from his peaceful, half-sleepy state by the whole exchange, Alfred stood up too, stretching himself unhurriedly.

“What, are we going right now?” he asked Arthur, who was carefully dusting grass off his pants.

“Well, yes. It’s still early in the day, so we should have plenty of time. And besides, you’re always dragging me off following your crazy whims with little notice, so I think it’s only fair that I get to do the same once in a while.” Alfred finished his stretching and flashed a blinding grin in Arthur’s direction.

“Aw man, I guess that’s true. So, we walking or cycling?”

“As I said, it’s not too far away, so we’ll walk.” Arthur took a few steps towards the garden gate before stopping to look back at Alfred, who had not moved. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

And there he was again, back to the good old Arthur- just how Alfred liked him. With a grin, he adjusted his glasses and jogged to catch up with his friend.

-

“Alfred, stop complaining. We’ve hardly been walking for three minutes; there’s no way your feet can hurt that badly yet.”

“Aw but Artie-“ and here he paused, for Arthur gave him a swift smack over the head for using his most hated nickname, but as usual, Alfred ignored it and flashed him a gin instead. “What are we even gonna do there anyway?” Arthur blanched slightly, then reddened steadily.

“Er, well. Four-leafed clovers have strong magical properties. Not only are they used as a lucky charm, but each one of the four leaves have a special meaning, like glory, fortune or health. They can also raise the strength of your magic, so it is useful for me to know the location of the patch. If you put a clover in your left shoe and then forget about it, it will keep evil from you. Not only that, but the flowers, three leaved and two leaved clovers have uses too.”

Alfred blinked. He had in no way expected that much information. But then again, it was Arthur; Arthur who knew seemingly endless amounts of magic that was, even though Alfred would never explicitly admit it, quite impressive.

He slung his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and leaned into him, delighting in the fact that Arthur gave a little start of surprise, but didn’t shrug him off. “Well dude, I’m sure your ‘ _magical friends’_ will find them useful.” He grinned, making air quotes with his fingers around the mention of Arthur’s magical friends. Arthur blushed and scowled, and this time did shrug Alfred’s arm off, and Alfred ignored the immediate sense of disappointment and the little voice in the back of his head telling him that he needed to stop getting so ahead of himself all the time.

“Well if you took the time to _see_ them then there’s no doubting their existence.” Arthur huffed, crossing his arms as he walked. “Which reminds me. Placing seven grains of rice over a four- leafed clover would allow you to see faeries. But somehow I doubt you’d even consider trying it.”

“Artie, I-“

“Don’t call me that.”

And there he was again, prickly as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically the plan for this fic goes like this: They go to pick four-four leafed clovers; there is an awkward accidental confession; they kiss; the end. That's it that's the fic.   
> I got stuck though because I wrote myself into a bit of a corner when they argued and I couldn't get back out. And then I just never finished it.  
> I'm pretty sure I intended to have Arthur know some sort of magic to do with four-leafed clovers to get his crush to be requited (which it obviously is), and it ends up working of course, but I don't remember the specifics anymore.


	6. Summer Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan finds Yao sitting on his doorstep in the rain, contemplating life, and decides to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as the previous two.  
> Time for some RoChu! I always shipped RoChu in a weird sort of way - more than friends, but not lovers, yet still entirely comfortable with their relationship. They have a very interesting dynamic that I liked a lot, but found intensely difficult to write.

It was raining outside. It wasn’t particularly dark, as one might expect it to be in such a downpour; Instead the sun still shone brightly in the sky, giving all the world a strange quality that felt almost saccharine sweet and free of feeling. Fat drops clattered noisily against the window pane, running in endless rivulets down the glass. Outside, the street was sodden, its wetness glistening in the bright sunlight. Cars sat empty and cold down the sides of the street, raindrops thudding onto their rooves. The rhythmic pounding of the rain beat a dull, toneless, monotonous tune. Inside the warm house, Ivan sat with his arms folded and his chin resting against the windowsill, gazing out into the street. Rain meant time for thinking, gazing out the window, or simply being. It always brought with it a sense of relief, a breath in the midst of the searing heat or the freezing cold. It was a time when his mind was still, yet his thoughts still swirled wildly. It was a time when there was finally silence, as the rain’s tuneless song could replace the noise inside his head.

His eyes flickered lazily over the houses in the square, not really taking anything in. Things seemed the same as usual. Directly across from his house, the cherry blossom tree was leafy and full, as if the cloud of pink that had enveloped it earlier in the year had never existed. He looked a little closer. Something was different.

Behind the slender branches of the tree, perched on a step, there sat something- no-some _one_. They didn’t move, even as the rain poured down around them. Ivan narrowed his eyes. It seemed mad to sit outside in this weather. After a few more seconds, he stood up purposefully, pushing himself up from the windowsill. He strode across the kitchen and pushed open the front door, hearing Katyusha call out to him, but he ignored it as he took a step out into the street, shutting the door behind him as he went.

The first few droplets to hit him were a shock, and he started slightly as they sank into his clothes. But he quickly became used to it, feeling how cold they were compared to the humidity of the day. Outside the brightness was much more pronounced and he squinted against the sunlight.

He strode across the square, hearing his footsteps splash in the shallow rivers running over the gravel. The person behind the cherry blossom tree still had not moved. It took him mere seconds to reach the gate of the opposite house, and he pushed it open without any further thought and stepped through.

Soaked, dark hair. Equally soaked clothes. His chin resting in his hand.

“Yao.”

He didn’t seem bothered by the rain in the slightest. He didn’t even look up as Ivan stood over him, each as motionless as the other as the rain thudded down over their bodies and soaked through their clothes. Yao was staring at nothing, seemingly, his gaze focusing somewhere far away as if the pavement he was staring at was transporting his mind to another world. Water dripped off his eyelashes onto the edge of his shirt before running in a thin little stream down to the floor. He still didn’t move.

Ivan took his chance and sat down on the step beside him.

Yao tore his eyes away to give Ivan an almost imperceptible sidelong glance. His eyes were the only thing that moved. They held there for a long second, dark and mysterious, before sliding back to stare at the floor, although this time, Ivan could see that they no longer held that look of distant contemplation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My difficulty with this was that I had nothing for them to discuss or consider, so with that being the entire purpose of the fic, it was impossible to continue. 
> 
> This is the last ficlet I have that is set in this AU. I really like it though, and I love the aesthetic I created and wish I had managed to explore it further.


	7. Cardverse - How Lilli Became Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cardverse AU, focusing on the Kingdom of Diamonds and how Liechtenstein became Queen. I REALLY love Cardverse, and had always found the dynamic of Diamonds really interesting. I felt a lot like Cardverse fics always seemed to be about Spades, so when I was struck with the idea for this, I immediately sat down and wrote it, without even stopping to edit (I've edited it now though, don't worry!), and the result was this.

But something caught her eye as she struggled her way down the dirty street, grimy water sloshing over her clothes. Something gleaming in the dust, a speck of clean in the squalor of the roadside. Glinting buttery warm, like a drop of sunlight fallen from the wide, open sky.

She stopped in her tracks, feeling water lurch over the edge of the bucket and onto the floor again, spilling over her feet, but she paid it no mind, her interest piqued. She _thought_ she’d seen something, at least, but now there seemed to be nothing where there was just a moment before. Eyes fixed on the spot, she took a slow, careful step backwards, mindful not to trip on the uneven cobbles underfoot.

 _There!_ Glinting under a small pile of straw and filth, a glimmer of something. Setting the heavy bucket down, she bent over to investigate. Gingerly, Lilli brushed away the clod of dirt and straw to get a better look at the object, wary of soiling her hands on the muck. For a moment, she wondered if she was going mad. But then there it was, smiling up at her like the sun from out behind the clouds.

One gold piece.

She could hardly believe her eyes. What luck! With this kind of money, she and Vash could easily live for a month! With a furtive glance over each shoulder, she snatched up the coin and thrust it into her pocket.

No sooner had she done so than she yelped and flung the coin from her pocket, for it had suddenly heat up to the point that she was sure a hole would be burned right through her. But surely that was ridiculous - a coin could never do that! Warily, she eyed it on the ground before her, its rich lustre drawing her towards it. She couldn’t just leave it here. With caution, she knelt down and scooped it into her palm.

She waited for a few seconds, to make sure that it would not harm her. The coin sat nestled in her palm, round and full and comfortingly heavy. Gilt designs wound their way around the coin’s outer edge, more intricate than even the trimming on the king’s carriage. It offset beautifully the simplicity of its face, which bore only a golden diamond in its centre. Lilli ran her finger over it gently, reassured after a few seconds had passed that it would no longer burn her, before turning it over to see the other side. Its reverse face held the most beautiful flower. The petals looked satin-soft, and its center seemed to emanate a rich, warm light that she could feel rising warmly in her chest. Its detail was so perfect that she almost wanted to reach out and pluck it from the coin’s face.

Lilli could hardly contain her gasp of amazement. It was clear that this was no ordinary gold coin – usually all coins in The Kingdom of Diamonds were simply minted with the king’s head and some form of simple, unobtrusive decoration. But this was unlike any coin she’d ever encountered. It was unlikely to have come from another kingdom, judging by the diamond emblem on its reverse face. With a small frown, turned to pick up her bucket of water again and continue home.

But as she turned her hand to place the coin in her pocket, the coin began to rapidly warm in her palm until it was too hot to simply be coincidence. Astounded, Lili turned her hand back to the street and the coin cooled down again, becoming bitingly cold. Now _this_ was fascinating. Deciding to test the theory blossoming in her mind, Lilli took a calculated step into the street towards the direction in which the coin became cold and almost dropped it again, hissing with pain as the cold bit into her skin. Quickly, she turned back around to face the opposite way, and almost instantly the coin began to warm again.

It was clear from this development that it was leading her somewhere. The question remained, however- should she follow it?

In an instant, she had made her decision, and, bucket of water forgotten behind her, she set out in the direction of the warmth, hand held out in front of her for the coin to lead the way.

She followed it out of the alleyway and along a side street, under the arched houses and past suspicious gazes, to which she paid no mind. She hardly watched where she was going, focusing only on her steps echoing faintly off the cobbles and the tall buildings either side of her.

She turned quickly on to the busy main street, hearing the cries of street vendors and the babble of people with a frantic beat added by the clatter of horse’s hooves and rickety cart wheels on well-worn stone. Weaving through a tangle of bodies and ducking under reins, fast leaving surprised and irritated shouts far behind her, she allowed all her attention to be concentrated on the gradually warming coin in her closed hand.

When she had left the outskirts of the town and began to climb a grassy hill littered with autumn trees, her thoughts began to grow worried. She had left their good bucket abandoned in the street. She had no idea where she was going, and her only guide was a mysterious and seemingly magical coin. She could be walking straight into danger. What would Vash do if she never came home? She closed her eyes briefly and dispelled the thought. Thinking of those things would get her nowhere.

The bustle of the town was now long gone, and as she walked she became aware of the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees and the grass, and the soft sound of her footsteps on the lush green hillside. It was very peaceful, she thought, compared to the busyness and clamour of everyday life.

She focused back of the coin. It still sat in her outstretched palm, and was beginning to become pleasantly warm. She curled her fingers around it with a small smile. Briefly, she wondered how it had got there. Perhaps a rich merchant from another part of Diamonds had dropped it by accident as he passed by. But what would he have been doing on such a street? There was nothing there but the back ends of houses. Perhaps it could have been intentionally hidden- after all, it had been under some straw, and she had heard stories of it happening before- wealthier citizens anonymously giving money to the poor- but none in such strange a way as this, and it seemed unlikely given the value of gold coins. Or perhaps they had wanted to get rid of it? But why would that be? A brief flash of fear coursed through her at the notion that the coin could be cursed. But she shook her head at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought. Imagine cursing a coin!

She was snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of a clattering some way ahead of her. It was followed by a series of harsh shouts, punctuated by short periods of quiet in which she could hear just one person shouting, though at this distance the words wrote too garbled and strung together to make out. She looked up sharply at the noise, and felt her heart pulse with a thrill of fear. Up ahead stood a grey, imposing wall, and just beyond that stood the golden spires of the castle. Atop the wall, she could see figures moving along its edge like ants, patrolling the battlements.

Lilli stopped in her tracks. She daren't go any further. She was terrified of the soldiers, knowing them to be harsh and fierce in their conduct about town, and rowdy and dangerous when drunk at one of the many taverns. But the coin still sat, warming in her hand.

With a shaky breath, she stepped forward.

After three paces, the coin grew cold. Surprised, Lilli stopped walking. Perhaps this was the spot it was leading her to? It seemed unlikely. There were no trees nearby, and she stood alone on the hill, with only the castle up ahead of her. She frowned, and made to put the coin in her pocket again, before remembering that when she turned the other way in the street, the coin hand changed temperature too. Carefully, and feeling rather silly, she began to turn a slow circle.

Before she had taken four steps, the coin suddenly warmed up again, and she jumped in surprise. Curious once again at where it would take her, she followed it.

It led her along the hillside in a slight diagonal, once again towards the castle. Dutifully, she kept to the path it led her on. Lost in concentration again, she didn’t notice the rabbit hole until she was too late.

With a yelp, she fell forward and put her hands out to steady herself, but ended up with a face full of grass anyway. The coin had fallen from her hand and lay on the grass just out of reach. After recovering from her fall, she scrambled to sit up and snatch up the coin once again in case she lost it. With the back of her hand, she wiped the damp grass from her cheek, but stopped halfway through, because there, just a couple of meters ahead of her, was what could only be described as a small _door_ In the hillside. Under normal circumstances, she would not have entered. But what changed her mind was the realisation that surrounding her, all the way up to the door, in a satin, golden swathe, grew small, delicate flowers on slender stems. They swayed in the breeze, nodding their heads as if in confirmation. Taking one between her fingers to get a better look at it, she suddenly realised that they were unlike any flower she’d seen before, yet… amazed, she lifted her palm to show the face of the coin bearing the flower. They were one and the same. She cast a look at the coin, as it asking it if it was the right thing to go through the door, and as if in answer, it gave a gentle pulse of warmth.

Uncertainly, she reached forward and pushed the door open.

It led into darkness.

She could see at most three or four paces down the passage before it was engulfed by darkness. Heart thudding, she stayed put for a few seconds before firmly making a decision. She would go through the door. As stupid as it seemed to walk into a pitch black, mysterious, and probably dangerous passage that she had been led to by a potentially cursed coin, Lilli decided that she should just go through. As strange as it seemed, she felt she trusted the coin, its warm and weighty presence seeming (ridiculously) like it wanted to help her. And so, pushing herself up, she crawled through into the darkness.

As she crawled blindly, she felt panic beginning to set in the back of her mind. The coin was clutched tightly in her closed hand, still warming steadily as she crawled. The passage felt tight and suffocating, and she could feel the cool walls bearing down on her. Determined, she kept crawling, moving one step at a time, determinedly ignoring the rising panic.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, something in the surroundings seemed to change, and the walls seemed to suddenly lift away from her and the air felt lighter around her body. Cautiously, she stopped. She extended her arms slightly, and when she still felt nothing, she kept going slowly until she had spread her arms as wide as they could go, save for her hand stull clutching tightly to to the coin.

So, the passage had widened considerably. But had it become tall enough for her to stand?

Very carefully, so as not to hit her head, Lilli rose from the cold floor until she was standing at her full height. Just to be sure, she raised her arm above her head, and when she still felt nothing, breathed a sigh of relief. She cast a glance behind her to try and see the passage she’d emerged from, but could see nothing, and so turned back to facing forward.

Steeling herself, she began to take a step forward but stopped again when the coin pulsed with heat again. Squinting through the absolute darkness, she opened her palm in front of her face, trying to see whatever she could. For a second, nothing happened, but all of a sudden there was a blinding flash of golden light, and in shock, Lilli dropped the coin. With a momentary flash of fear, she realised that she may not be able to find the coin again, vision still blinded by the unexpected bright light. She blinked to try and clear it, rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hand. Her heart pounded so loudly she could have sworn she heard it echoing off the walls, and she fought the very strong urge to cry, squeezing her eyes tight against the pricking threat of tears.

When she opened her eyes again, the light still wasn’t gone. Confused, she cast a look around for the source and found it lying on the ground beside her. A small disc of muted golden light lay on the floor by her feet. With a small frown, she knelt down beside it to investigate.

The light was, in fact, coming from the coin. Wary again that it might hurt her, she cautiously picked it up, turning it over in her palm, and instead nearly laughed with joy.

The flower on the coin’s underside that earlier she had felt looked golden and buttery warm was, in fact, glowing with a warm, rich light. It was just enough to see by, illuminating the walls and the cobbles underfoot laid out ahead of her- a marked change from the packed earth she had crawled along. Clearly, this was the way she was meant to go. With another glance at the coin and the beautiful, glowing, golden flower, she pressed on, determination renewed. 

She lost sense of time as she walked, bare feet echoing off the gently off the passage walls, and the coin growing ever warmer in her hand. The passage seemed to slope upward, and more than once she climbed sets of old and cracking stone stairs. She did not fail to note how worn they were in the center, as if many hundreds of feet had walked over them before her.

Eventually, when her feet hurt and her muscles ached, she came to a door.

It was mostly plain, save for a simple handle, and once again, the simple rhombus in its center. Unquestioningly, Lilli grasped the handle and pulled.

The door swung open slowly, flooding the passageway with light, and Lilli blinked to adjust to it after the dim light emanated by the coin. Carefully, she stepped through it. As soon as she was out of the passage, the door slid smoothly shut again without a sound, its exterior fitting perfectly back into the wall. It was as if it was never there.

Now, Lilli found herself standing in the center of the most sumptuous hallway she had ever seen. Plush carpet lined the floor under her bare feet and the warm yellow walls were decorated in gilt gold, accentuated by the flickering orange light from torches set into niches in the walls. In the midst of it all, Lilli suddenly felt quite small.

Another pulse from the coin in her hand prompted her to snap out of her stupor, and this time without hesitation, she followed where the coin led. It was by now very warm, bordering on hot, and she wondered how much longer she would be able to hold on to it for.

Lilli stole down the grand hallways, feeling rather daring despite the fact that there seemed to be nobody around. The coin led her down winding halls and through grand rooms where her footsteps echoed around so loudly she was certain she’d be discovered. It was all rather eerie.

After a while, she became accustomed to the silence and lack of people, and began to conduct herself in a normal manner. The coin was beginning to grow unbearably hot, and she found herself hoping that she would reach her destination soon.

“But your majesty!”

The shout echoed down the empty hallway and through the open doors of the high-ceilinged room Lilli stood in, and she jumped in shock. Clutching onto the coin, she padded to the open double doors and poked her head out into the hallway.

Nothing.

Her guard back up, she stepped out.

Still nothing.

Still following the coin, which was now almost too hot to hold, she ran lightly down the hall and around the corner -

And stopped dead.

In front of her lay an open room, more grand than any she had seen so far. Huge arched windows let the late afternoon light flood in, showing in plain sight the sheer amount of people in the room. Soldiers flanked the walls, standing resolutely with their spears, and many importantly dressed men stood stiffly around the room. Directly in front of Lilli, at the far side of the room, sat a golden throne, and on it sat a young man with golden hair dressed in such finery that Lilli couldn’t help but feel that all the kingdom’s riches had gone into creating such a beautiful outfit. All the attention in the room was fixed intently on the man on the throne.

“But your majesty-“ repeated the same voice as she had heard in the hallway, but he was cut off by the man on the throne holding up a hand.

“ _Mais non_ , you don’t understand.” He spoke calmly, although a tell-tale hint of irritation was creeping into his voice. “You see, that would never-“

And that’s when Lilli dropped the coin.

It had suddenly heated up as she reached the entrance to the room, and try as she might, it was simply too hot to hold on to, and before she could do anything about it, it had fallen onto the stone floor with a resounding _clunk_.

All attention snapped instantly to her.

“Um.” She tried to say something in explanation, but nothing would come.

There was another beat of silence, before everything erupted into chaos.

The room was filled with turmoil as every person began to shout at once, cries of “Intruder!”, and “Get her!”, and “King Francis, what is this!?” rising over the clamour. Soldiers stumbled over each other as people surged towards Lilli, but she was frozen in shock. She knew she had to move, there was someone reaching out to grab her, another pointing a spear at her throat…

“ _Arr_ _êtez!_ Stop, Stop!” King Francis’ voice rose over the noise, and everything instantly froze. _Just at the last second_ , murmured a tiny voice at the back of Lilli’s mind, although in her shock she barely registered it. She simply stood as still as she could, breathing hard, several spears centimeters from her throat.

At last, several seconds later, someone spoke up.

“ _What_ is this urchin doing here?” it was the man from before, a lord by the looks of it. The disgust in his voice was plain and undisguised as he glared down at Lilli with contempt. There was a ripple of agreement around the room. Shaking with fear, she opened her mouth to try and explain.

“I’m just-“

“SILENCE!” bellowed the lord. “Who gave you the right to speak!?” Without thinking, Lilli opened her mouth again, but quickly shut it at the chorus of angry glares being directed at her. The lord turned towards the back of the room. “Your Majesty-“ he began, but stopped at the sound of commotion as people beagn to shuffle about. There were various mutters consisting of, “Excuse me- ah, _merci_.” And, “Sorry, your majesty.”

Soon enough, a small path was cleared, and King Francis squeezed ungracefully through the small space. He turned to the Lord. “Let the girl speak. I am interested in what she has to say, _non_?” with a pointed look at the lord, the king turned to Lilli with a smile. “Welcome, _ma cherie_.”

A little taken aback, but still aware that she had to be polite, even despite the fact that she had technically just broken into his castle, Lilli gave a small curtsey. “Its very nice to meet you, Your Majesty.”

The king smiled warmly at her. “What is your name?”

“My name is Lilli Zwingli, Your Majesty.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lilli. What brings you to this gorgeous castle?”

Once again, Lilli was at a loss for words. And suddenly she felt incredibly silly, standing in the midst of all this finery and these noble people whilst dressed in rags herself, a dirty urchin with bare feet and scraped knees. It struck her that there was such a huge imbalance of wealth between them, and how unjust that felt. Furrowing her brow and steeling her resolve, she made up her mind that she was going to do something about it.

Everyone was still staring at her expectantly, and she blinked, fumbling for an answer again. Swiftly, she ducked down and picked up the coin from where it had fallen to. It had gone cold, and she panicked that it had all been an illusion, and it dawned on her that she could very easily be in very, very deep trouble.

But there was no going back now.

Uncertainly, she held out the coin in her open palm for King Francis to see. “Well, I have this…”

A few seconds passed before Lilli realised that the room had suddenly gone very silent. It was if every person was holding their breath.

The king was the first to beak the silence. “My…” he trailed off in amazement. “Is that…” Abruptly he straightened up and shook his head as if to dispel the stupor, his golden hair waving with the motion. “Forgive me. Where are my manners?” he tugged at the hem of his beautifully tailored shirt. “If I may, could I take a closer look at that?”

Against her better judgement, Lilli began to give it to him, but changed her mind and snatched it back to her chest. A collective gasp echoed around the large room. “You can’t have it.” She said stubbornly.

King Francis blinked at her, eyes wide in surprise. It was then that Lilli realised how incredibly rude she had just been, and to the king no less! She tried to stammer out a hasty apology, but was interrupted by a peal of raucous laughter.

The king stood doubled over, shoulders shaking as he laughed and laughed, the rest of the room staring at him incredulously. This continued for more than a few seconds, until he finally drew himself up, wiping tears from his eyes, chest still shaking with little bits of laughter. Then he looked at Lilli, looked at the lord standing flabbergasted beside him, chuckled once more and exclaimed with a flourish, “Get this girl a chair!”

-

And so it was that Lilli found herself seated opposite the king on the most sumptuously soft couch, still clutching tightly onto the golden coin. She had been offered an array of drinks in bejewelled flagons and golden platters of biscuits and small cakes by a flurry of confused (yet courteous) servants, but had politely declined them all, and they had retreated back to where they had appeared from.

She found private audience with the king unnerving at first, but his charming demeanour relaxed her slightly, and the presence of the coin in her hand reassured her. This was all so surreal, she wondered if it was a dream.

The king had asked her simply to explain everything, and so she did. From finding the coin and picking it up, following its trail of warmth, finding the door in the hillside and the secret passage, and finally ending up at the castle. The more she had talked, the sillier she felt, reciting a fairytale to the King. But he seemed to take it surprisingly seriously, nodding thoughtfully throughout her story, and he didn’t interrupt her once, or laugh, scoff or even smile. And now, at the end of her story, the vast room was filled with a strange kind of silence. The king still sat on the edge of the couch, elbow perched thoughtfully on his knee, a small frown on his face, while Lilli sat upright, hands on her knees and fists clutching at the thin fabric of her dress.

Neither spoke, and Lilli found herself growing more and more worried about the consequences of her actions.

“Um…” She started. The king looked up sharply, eyes piercing. “Am I in trouble?” At that, the King’s face relaxed, features smoothing.

“Not at all, _ma cherie_ , in fact, quite far from it.” He smiled at her again and she tried to smile back. A few more beats of silence passed between them.

“I’m sorry for being so rude to you earlier.”

The king chuckled lightly. “ _Non_ , not at all. I was very surprised, though, as I have not been spoken to that way in a very long time.” He smiled again in both fond memory and reassurance. “You are not in any trouble.” He repeated. An uncertain thought flickered through Lilli’s mind, and she wondered if it was wise to act upon it, but she ignored it and pressed on regardless.

“Would you like to take a closer look at the coin?”

King Francis blinked widely at her, again surprised. But then his expression cleared, and he held out a hand. “If I may.” Carefully, Lilli placed it into his palm. But no sooner than she had drawn her hand away that King Francis hissed in pain and abruptly dropped the coin onto the table where it landed with a heavy thud. After a brief second of flapping his hand he lifted it to his face to examine it, turning it in wonder. “ _Incroyable_.” He murmured. “It is just as they say.” Suddenly seeming to notice Lilli’s thoroughly confused expression, he dropped his hand and turned back to face her, face startlingly serious for someone so renowned for his smiles. “Lilli.” He began. “Do you know of the old legends of the Kingdom of Diamonds?”

Slowly, uncertainly, she shook her head. She had a vague idea in the back of her mind, an old and faded story, the characters dusty and the plot fraying at the edges. She remembered faceless knights battling for honor, their identities forgotten with time, tales of the legendary Jokers, and magical items so rare they were only seen once in a lifetime. But they were only shadows flickering in the backstreets of her thoughts, taken from snatches of overheard conversations and games played with other children in the dirty streets in better times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I simply ended up losing momentum with this one, but I do love it, even if it is a little silly.  
> The lore for this story is just about to be introduced where I have stopped writing, so I will explain it here. The Queen and Jack of Diamonds are predetermined by fate, and when the time comes for a new monarch, specific magical items will appear to guide them and deign them as the new Queen/Jack. For Diamonds Queens, it is this magical coin with the ability to guide the Queen to their rightful place. For the Jack, it is a Spear, and as far as I remember the lore was that only the Jack could wield it, and my plan for this story was to have Vash single-handedly storm the castle to get Lilli back (because of course he would) and grab a spear off the wall to defend her, and then notices everyone is staring at him in shock because of course it's the Jack's spear haha  
> As far as I remember, I headcanoned that the position of King is hereditary, but I can't remember as I didn't write any notes for this fic at the time.  
> I think Francis, Lilli and Vash would make a killer trio and would bring fantastic balance to the kingdom. Francis would bring carefreeness, Vash would be an incredible military strategist, and Lilli would be the people's champion as the kind-hearted Queen.  
> idk, I just really love Cardverse >w<


	8. DenNor: Human AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some DenNor!  
> Not too sure what the plan for this one was supposed to be, to be honest.

It wasn’t unheard of for Denmark to show up on Norway’s doorstep, but then again, nor was it an uncommon phenomenon. It had become a habit, to go to answer the door to whoever called in the early evening, and to be met with Denmark’s grin, one arm resting on the doorframe, an unopened bottle of alcohol in hand, waiting. It had become familiar, commonplace, to have to meet those bright eyes alight with laughter, to see that rapturous grin against the cold and dark of the winter evening.

The suggestion would be, of course, that they drink together, or celebrate, or toast, or any small excuse Denmark could think up to drink with Norway. He would ask that he be let in, and Norway, of course, would sigh, and perhaps roll his eyes at the practically glittering man in front of his house, and probably call him annoying, or an idiot, or anything to try and hide the embarrassing fact that he had made up his mind about letting him in the instant he opened the door to the grinning idiot.

Following this exchange, Norway would grudgingly agree, and without a word, turn back into the house, Denmark following behind him, chattering inanely. The pair would head to the kitchen, where Denmark, setting the bottle he had brought on the counter, would take two glasses from the shelf above the counter, still talking to Norway, who by this point had begun to put in a word or two towards the conversation. Denmark would pour two glasses of whatever alcohol he had brought, perhaps with ice, and would hand one to Norway. He would toast the occasion, to which Norway would roll his eyes half-heartedly and ignore the violent stuttering of his heart whenever Denmark flashed him that beautiful smile. Both would proceed to drink deeply from their full glasses, which would be followed perhaps by a torrent of unnecessary praise about the quality of the drink from Denmark, before both he and Norway would retire to the lounge to polish off the rest of the bottle together. Norway would spend the rest of the evening into the night pretending not to stare at Denmark, and additionally watch him getting more and more drunk.

There was no question that Denmark could hold his liquor well, and nor did it come as a surprise that this was because he drank frequently; an action which he was often reminded of alongside a slap over the head from Norway, because it was stupid. However, as much as he could manage to drink, it never failed to have one of two effects on him: it either served to make him much more hyper than usual, and consequently (in Norway’s not-so-private opinion), significantly more annoying than usual. This version of drunk Denmark tended to consist of him talking about any given subject at a million miles an hour, from what was happening at work to the time he wanted to spend with the other Nordics in the near future. Some nights, Norway joined in on the conversation, but he mostly just sat and listened, or silently watched as Denmark did stupid things such as trying to touch the ceiling by jumping on the couch.

The other option was that Denmark became incredibly disoriented. Despite this second option being significantly rarer than the first, it was by far the most amusing to witness. Norway couldn’t help but let a small smile of amusement grace his lips as he watched Denmark careen around the room, periodically walking into walls, missing the doorway completely, or tripping over the coffee table in the center of the room. Despite all this, Denmark’s speech remained unaffected, and his exclamations of confusion when things ended up not where he’d thought they were never failed to amuse Norway, although he would never admit it.

Despite all the chaos of having Denmark any kind of drunk, every time the effects of the alcohol began to wear off, Denmark, for once in his life, would slip into a tranquil state, during which he would be content to just sit, relaxed and perfectly serene, telling a story, reminiscing, or listening to the soft crackle of the embers in the grate. It was these times with him that Norway treasured. Oftentimes, Norway would quietly recount a tale of his own, to which he would receive soft words and a smile, sweetly warming his whole body like the alcohol in their glasses. Every action of Denmark’s was performed with care, the brightness in his normally dazzling eyes, normally too bright to look directly at lowered to a warm and inviting glow. Any brief or accidental touch or brush of the hands was almost heartbreakingly gentle, and, as the night still wore on, Norway found himself having to resist the urge to curl up against the warm and steady presence beside him, and slip into a warm and blissfully happy sleep with a peaceful smile settled on his lips.

It was only unfortunate that those such nights were almost as rare as one of those smiles. Tonight was not one of those nights, and once again, Norway found himself on the couch in the living room, legs tucked neatly underneath his body, glass almost empty, and his trademark bored expression scrawled across his face. Denmark lay sprawled on the floor next to the coffee table with his hands over his face, recovering from walking into first the doorframe and then the coffee table. Tonight, it seemed, was a night when Norway had to deal with a disorientated Denmark.

From the floor there came a pained groan. “Ouch.”

Without letting the mask of boredom slip from his face, Norway gave a monotone reply. “It’s your own fault.”

“You’re the one that let me in and drank with me.” grinned Denmark in response. Norway opted to reply simply by rolling his eyes, even though he knew Denmark couldn’t see him. 


	9. Sharing a bed - Part 1: GerIta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first in a sort of series of 3 fics about sharing a bed bc I'm weak for this trope.  
> This one is GerIta

Germany awoke to light streaming through the window and a strange feeling that something was different. The light was normal, he confirmed. It meant that he was in his own room. Italy always slept with the curtains firmly shut, and that just made him feel suffocated. He was also sleeping on the right side of the bed, as per usual. Additionally, he could feel a sleeping presence beside him, which would no doubt be Italy. That too was… well. After all this time, that, too, was normal. Italy’s nightly visits had recently been steadily increasing in frequency, until now more often than not he slept over in Germany’s bed. At first, the visits irritated him, as Italy had his own room that was perfectly fine, and there was simply no logical reason that Italy should want to sleep next to him. But night after night, Italy had crept into Germany’s room, and the next morning he would still be there, fast asleep beside him.

At first, Germany had found it frustrating and irritating, especially since the night was supposed to be a time where he could be free from Italy’s constant presence. But more and more he found himself grudgingly accepting the visit, and that unnerved the more rational part of his mind. What was Italy doing to him to make him behave like this? It was obvious that Italy was completely useless at anything but cooking pasta, and he needed to be dealt with accordingly. Instead of entertaining this bizarre notion of leaving Italy to continue being as lazy as usual, he needed to give Italy rigorous training to ensure that he wouldn’t be captured or attacked and hurt in future. Sadly this was a debate he had with himself rather frequently, and this particular morning was no exception.

Germany stifled a yawn and made to roll over and get up, but found there was something holding him down. Upon investigation, his sleep- dulled senses meant he took much longer than usual to even react to what he was seeing.

Italy was curled against him, a slender arm reaching behind Germany’s back. The other rested against his broad chest, his fingers resting over Germany’s racing heart. In turn, he had wrapped his arms around Italy’s sleeping form, one hand behind his head with his fingers tangled in Italy’s soft chestnut hair. Germany felt his cheeks flush crimson at the discovery. Italy breathed deeply and evenly against Germany’s chest, his face relaxed as he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the first few fics I ever wrote so uh  
> Apologies for the quality?


	10. Sharing a bed - Part 2: PruAus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Austria gets an unexpected ~~(and unwanted)~~ nighttime visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, one of the first few fics I wrote, so probably a little OOC.

Austria was knocked from his pleasant half-sleep state by two soft taps on the door to his bedroom. Blearily, he fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table. He didn’t bother with a candle; the pale light of the moon trickling in through the big arched window at the end of the grand room provided just enough light to see by, giving everything an unearthly white glow.

Getting up to go and answer whoever had knocked, Austria tugged at the hem of his nightshirt and rubbed at his heavy eyes under his glasses. It wasn’t completely unknown for someone to visit his room so late; occasionally Holy Roman Empire or Italy had a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep, or Miss Hungary might have something to tell him. He reached sleepily for the door handle and swung open the door, but stopped short upon finding someone other than expected standing there.

His visitor was dressed in a questionable combination of dark blue boxers patterned with yellow chicks, and a crumpled white shirt that had been hastily thrown on and he had neglected to button up. His silver hair seemed to shimmer even more beautifully in the ethereal light, and it was too dark to see clearly, but even at this hour his deep ruby eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth.

Austria opened his mouth, trying to find his voice, and then closed it again just as quickly, any words seeming to have evaded him. He swallowed, gathering himself, and tried again.

“Prussia?”

Prussia grinned sheepishly and lifted a hand behind his head. “What are you doing here?” Austria asked, hoping that Prussia couldn’t hear the tremor that accompanied the words. Prussia shifted on his feet, and Austria noted with a touch of concern that he seemed distracted.

“I couldn’t sleep?” he tried. There was a pause, as Austria’s sleep-dulled thoughts attempted to catch up. Prussia’s eyes wouldn’t meet his, and they kept darting around, settling anywhere but Austria’s face. Austria couldn’t help noticing, with a slight blush, that the moonlight suited Prussia, accentuating the details of his figure. His face looked more striking, and his eyes glittered with something powerful that Austria couldn’t quite name. The soft light bathed his skin, making it look paler and everything more defined; Austria could see every crease in his shirt, could see the well- built muscle of his chest, could see… _Enough is enough_ , he rebuked himself, and straightened himself up.

“You couldn’t sleep? For goodness' sake, Prussia, you’re a grown man. Go back to your own room.” He scolded, pointing a stern finger down the hallway and hoping the half-twilight was enough to hide the color in his warm cheeks from the other, who stubbornly wasn’t moving.

“Aw, come on, Priss! You don’t have to be so obstinate about it, geez. And besides, who else is gonna know? The kids are asleep, Hungary is probably asleep, but hell if I’m checking that, she’ll just beat me with her skillet!”

“And for good reason, too!” countered Austria, well aware that his voice was rising above an acceptable level for this late at night. “And how is it that you know that the children are sleeping? You better not have done anything to disturb them, or they’ll give me grief tomorrow.”

“Please, I’m too awesome to have done anything like that.” Prussia said, without missing a beat. Austria huffed in annoyance as Prussia leaned confidently forward, his arm resting on the doorframe just above Austria’s head, all earlier signs of nervousness gone. “Let me stay? Just for one night.” He asked quietly, in a gentle voice that made Austria’s stomach begin fluttering wildly. He scowled in spite of himself.

“Fine. But don’t you dare try anything.”

Prussia’s face split into a delighted grin, and before Austria even had time to utter a word, Prussia had barged straight into Austria’s room with an, “Awesome!” as if he owned the place.

Austria sighed and shut his eyes resignedly, closing the door behind him. He turned around and was just about to remind Prussia again not to try anything, when for the second time in almost as many minutes, words failed him and he was left staring like a fool.

Prussia stood in the center of the room where the moonlight struck him again from the perfect angle. He shrugged off his shirt as if it were the most natural thing to do and left it crumpled in a heap on the floor before running a hand through his sliver hair that shimmered as if it were made of stardust.

All at once, he looked up and met Austria’s eyes with that endless ruby gaze.

He held it for one second, two seconds. Austria couldn’t tear his eyes away; he was struck though to the core. He felt his heart speed up and blood rush to his cheeks with each second that passed, and still, he couldn’t look away.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he broke the spell.

“Wh- what are you doing?” This time his voice definitely shook; there was no denying it. Prussia only grinned in response.

“I’m taking my shirt off; don’t tell me you sleep with that thing on.” Prussia explained to him with a grin, gesturing to Austria’s nightshirt as if it were some old rag that needed discarding rather than anything else. Austria huffed in response, halfway offended.

“Of course I do!” He grinned, and gestured to Prussia’s shirt in a heap on the floor. “At least I treat my clothes with care! Although I won’t say I’m not pleased you decided to at least put _something_ on, otherwise I would never have even _considered_ the possibility of letting you in here.” And then, out of nowhere, there came that distractedness again. The light, easy mood that had begun to fill the room as usual suddenly vanished, and Prussia’s grin was gone again, and he simply ducked his head and said,

“We better go to sleep, then.” Before lifting the covers to Austria’s bed and clambering in. Wordlessly, Austria joined him, not trusting himself to speak. He placed his glasses back on the bedside table and lay facing away from Prussia as being in such close proximity would give him away, and then he would have landed himself in a real mess.

It was getting to the point where something really had to be done about his feelings for Prussia. He had been aware of them for a long while now, but not knowing what to do about them, he had turned to teasing and scolding the other whenever he did the smallest thing that could be criticised. Although Prussia gladly joined in with trading insults and often even initiated the banter, Austria often felt he went too far in trying to disguise his feelings. It was painfully obvious to him that Prussia did not feel the same way, either. He’d had a conversation with Miss Hungary about it on more than one occasion, and time and time again she had assured him (with a smile and a delighted clap of her hands) that all would work out in due time. Austria wasn’t so sure. He’d always had a bit of a hard time in dealing with others, preferring to express himself through music rather than words, or battle, or intimate gestures. It didn’t seem right to him to have to hurt Prussia all the time to avoid hurting or bothering him with the burden of what Austria felt.

Austria sighed heavily with the weight of it all. It seemed to echo accusingly off the walls, far too loud in the silence of the night. Right now, it was too late to be dealing with all these confusing things, and he should just get back to sleep, but Prussia was _right there_ and it was all just too much. He began to give a long sigh again, but stopped abruptly when his heart performed a complicated jump because there was something resting gently on his hip. It took him a few seconds for him to realise: it was Prussia’s hand, just _there_. For the third time that night, Austria couldn’t find his voice.

“You said you wouldn’t try anything.” He whispered it, too afraid that his voice might betray him. The words seemed to slice through the thick silence that had engulfed them. There came the warm sound of a quiet chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I…” Prussia cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly before continuing, “May I?” he asked, in that soft voice again. Austria felt his cheeks suddenly change from flushed to a startling shade of scarlet as he realised what Prussia was asking; he was asking if he could _hold_ him. To lie with him, to fall asleep wrapped safe in his arms. The more he thought about it, the more wonderful of a possibility it seemed. He was suddenly thankful that Prussia couldn’t see his face, as if he saw the wild blush that had stained his cheeks, his feelings would be exposed for sure. But then again, what difference would it make at this point?

Austria felt as if he were between two possibilities, balanced on the edge of a fine line. Everything from this point onwards was up to him. Whatever he chose would affect how things played out from now on. 

His first option would be to refuse, and maybe make some accusatory remark to wound Prussia’s ever-inflating ego. But that would also mean that they would have to go back to the way things had always been, and likely, not even that. By doing that, he would hurt Prussia, and that could mean that Prussia would treat him differently, that he would stop talking to him altogether. And that was scary.

His second option would be to take the plunge, and allow his carefully disguised feelings to all be revealed at once, his carefully built defences stripped away to expose the raw emotion hidden beneath with a single touch. And that, too, was scary.

Afraid of either possibility, but his mind battling over which to choose, Austria held his tongue. His rational mind clamoured for refusal of the hopeful gesture, while the side more in tune with his heart was vying for him to accept. The silence hung thickly in the moonlit room, punctuated only by their breathing, rising and falling; and, Austria realised, the erratic beating of his own heart, drumming in a staccato rhythm so fast that he was certain that Prussia would be able to hear it, too. Prussia’s hand still rested on his hip, a warm and feather-light touch, and Austria found that he couldn’t resist.

“Austria?”

Prussia broke the silence with barely more than a whisper, but the concern and the doubt that accompanied it were as clear as if he had spoken. He moved his hand ever so slightly, and Austria’s breath caught in his throat, but still he did not say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ofc Austria accepts and they fall asleep in each other's arms uwu
> 
> **Bonus lines!:** This wasn't specifically for this fic, but I haven't written any other PruAus, so have it anyway.  
> Roderich whirled around, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock, finger raised and face reddening. He looked utterly scandalised. He managed to choke out, ‘Did you just call me a-‘ and he broke off as if he could hardly bring himself to say the word.   
> ‘A dummkopf?’ Prussia broke in. ‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘I get called that all the time. No biggie. Look, I’ll even call myself one: Gilbert, you’re a dummkopf!’ He cackled with laughter at his own joke.


	11. Sharing a bed - Part 3: USUK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Arthur watch a horror movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of 3 of this mini-series.  
>  ~~also, they're roommates because yes~~

Light from the TV screen flickered over the bored expression gracing Arthur’s face. He sighed and rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, glancing over at the quaking American seated beside him on the dorm couch. This was Arthur’s last idea of a good way to spend a Friday night.

Alfred had not shut up all week about this new, “totally freaking awesome and super frikin’ scary” horror movie that had come out a couple of weeks ago. He’d gone on and on about the explosions and the zombies and how if he was in that movie he’d totally be chill and definitely would _not_ be scared because, ‘Dude, I’m the Hero!’

Arthur had been at the forefront of this torrent of excited chatter, being roommates with Alfred, and after seven days of the torrent of incessant _drivel_ , he’d finally given in and agreed to watch it with him before he ended up strangling Alfred.

Arthur usually managed to get out of watching whatever dry American horror film that was churned out by that bloody country with Alfred because Alfred usually harassed Matthew or Kiku into watching it with him. Occasionally he’d get Gilbert or Matthias to watch a movie with him, at which point Arthur knew better than to stay in the dorm.

Kiku was Alfred’s first choice for a horror movie, but the less-than-willing Japanese boy apparently already had plans with Ludwig and Feliciano that seemed mysteriously convenient to Arthur, but he didn’t blame Kiku, therefore nor did he comment on it.

Alfred had then turned to his brother as his second choice. However Matthew, too, suddenly had a paper due (strangely enough) on Saturday morning, thus he couldn’t possibly take an hour and a half out of his schedule to watch the movie. Alfred, being Alfred, happy-go-lucky as usual, didn’t question either of the pair’s excuses. Gilbert and Matthias were both out of the question as it wasn’t an action movie (their usual) but a horror movie. That left none other than Arthur, disgruntled not only over being last choice, who also happened to have a distinct distaste for American horror films. And aside from that, he was watching it with Alfred.

Normally, Arthur would have jumped at the chance to watch a movie with Alfred because… okay, maybe he did have a thing for his American roommate. Alfred was obnoxiously loud, boisterous and over the top, but could also be incredibly sweet, caring and kind. Needless to say, Arthur was head over heels for him. He kept it a closely guarded secret, because there was no reason whatsoever Alfred should reciprocate his feelings, and Arthur knew that he never would. In Arthur’s opinion, there was nothing remotely desirable about himself; he was stuffy, intolerant, cranky, boring and everything else in between, and he couldn’t have looked more like a dull pebble next to the dazzling (and quite frankly, beautiful) sparkle of his roommate.

To Arthur, Alfred was perfect in almost every way. The only exceptions to that lay in the form of those disgusting hamburgers Alfred liked to demolish by the dozen; and his less than refined reaction to horror movies, yet despite that, his insistence to watch them at every opportunity that arose.

Arthur glanced over yet again to his left where Alfred huddled on the couch, effectively strangling a pillow, eyes fixed intently on the screen. He was sitting in an odd fashion- he had curled himself up as tightly as humanly possible, making sure no limb lay beyond the safety of the couch, as if a zombie were about to materialize out of the floor and infect him. He had long since traded shovelling handfuls of popcorn into his mouth for squeezing the life out of a poor couch pillow. All in all, he looked pathetic.

“Honestly, Alfred,” began Arthur, when there was a lull in the dialogue of the movie, “I couldn’t possibly think of a better waste of-“

“Shush, Artie,” Alfred butted in in a nervous whisper, eyes never leaving the screen. “This is a really intense moment; you see, the zombies have chased them through the woods, and their flashlight has died, and they totally have no supplies and-“

“I _know_ , you bloody git!” Arthur cut him off, exasperated. “I’ve been stuck here with you for the past forty-five minutes watching this mindless rubbish when I could have been doing something far more productive!”

But Alfred wasn’t listening. He had leaned forward slightly, eyes still fixated on the TV screen, enraptured by the scene. Arthur wasn’t having any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not obvious, Alfred can't sleep because he's too scared (lol) and so sneaks into Arthur's bed.


	12. When You Taught Me How To Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HRE teaches Italy how to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay so this one is _REALLY_ unfinished, but here it is anyway.   
> Title and lyrics from 'When You Taught Me How To Dance' by Katie Melua. I have no idea how to embed a link so here it is: https://youtu.be/aKothnJ2-kk

_When you taught me how to dance_

_Years ago with misty eyes_

_Every step and silent glance_

_Every move was sweet surprise._

“Holy Rome! Holy Rome!”

The Holy Roman Empire was stirred from his pleasant half-sleep state by gentle shaking and a familiar voice, sweet as honey. Blearily, he opened his eyes, and was met with the sight of someone peering down at him, their face mere centimetres away from his. It took him a slow second before he realised who it was, and he felt his face begin to stain red.

“Italy?” the question came out as hardly more than a whisper. Embarrassed, he squeezed his eyes shut once again. “I’m dreaming.” He told himself firmly, and curled back up into the soft covers.

But Italy had other ideas. “Holy Rome! Wake up!” she called, shaking him again. This time he complied, torn between the warmth and comfort of his bed, or getting to see Italy. He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and turned to face her.

Italy was smiling wide as usual


	13. DenNor: Modern/Human AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DenNor modern florist AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, super unfinished, sorry :(

The sudden splash of color hit him like a ton of bricks.

It was as if one day there was nothing but the same old streets; the same old nameless people swarming around him; the same old monotonous sharp tap of his shoes on the cobbled pavement, until one day, _that_ day, it appeared right in front of him.

Admittedly, it caught him a little off guard. He was on his way home from work, bathed in the cheerful light of Copenhagen summer, strides purposeful and customary bored expression tugging his lips into their usual slight frown, occasionally jostling shoulders with another person in the busy street. He had become accustomed to the scenery on the short walk home; the grand lampposts and vibrant trees casting dappled shade on the cobbled street; elegant wooden benches in the middle of the square; quaint shops neatly hemming it all in. He had made the brief journey countless times over the past year and a half and had long since stopped admiring the pretty scene, long stopped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sad that I never got far with this one because I had such grand plans for it. Each chapter was supposed to be short and snappy, and each titled and centered around a specific flower with reference to the language of flowers. My chosen flowers were, in no particular order:  
> 1) Camellia- perfection, gift to a man  
> 2) Pink camellia- longing for you  
> 3) White camellia- you’re adorable  
> 4) Pink carnation- I’ll never forget you  
> 5) Daffodil- the sun is always shining when I’m with you  
> 6) Daisy- loyal love  
> 7) Forget-me-not- true love, memories  
> 8) Gardenia- you’re lovely, secret love  
> 9) Gloxinia- love at first sight  
> 10) Narcissus- stay as sweet as you are  
> 11) Stock- You’ll always be beautiful to me  
> 12) Tulip (variegated)- beautiful eyes  
> 13) Tulip (yellow)- there’s sunshine in your smile  
> 14) Viscaria – Will you dance with me?  
> 15) Honey flower- love sweet and secret  
> 16) Purple pansy- you occupy my thoughts  
> Some were supposed to be from Matthias to Lukas, others from Lukas to Matthias.  
> Btw, Matthias owns the flower shop, and Lukas is just a regular office worker


	14. A Good Day at the Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julius drags Aldrich out to watch a chariot race while he is visiting Rome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one exists purely because I am a classics NERD but I regret nothing. This is HEAVILY inspired by Ovid Amores 3.2 - A Good Day at the Circus (hence why I have titled it as that). If you don't know anything about it, essentially Ovid goes to watch a chariot race but instead of properly watching, instead spends the entire time flirting with an unsuspecting girl who would really rather not be bothered with him. It's great fun and it was one of my favourite Latin texts I have studied.

Aldrich should have known it was a bad idea to come back to Rome.

He should have trusted his judgement, put his head down and got on with his life as if the city and the people in it didn’t even exist. He should have listened to what he kept telling himself.

And yet… here he was, among the crowd and noise, being jostled slightly as people rushed past him, eager to get to their destination. He had expended the effort of making the long and dangerous journey, had taken the time to get here, and as he should have expected, he was already being dragged to all corners of the city by his enthusiastic host. Aldrich spared a second to glance over at his companion. Julius was a few steps ahead of him and practically bouncing through the crowd, for once not saying a word in his tangible excitement. Aldrich’s scowl deepened as he watched his head bob up and down as Julius weaved around the mass of people, seemingly unaware of how much he was acting like a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In short, the plan for this was that Julius drags Aldrich to the games, spends his time flirting with and irritating girls sitting nearby them, and eventually Aldrich leaves in a huff (Julius chases after him, to his credit) and resolves NEVER to come back to Rome as nothing good ever comes of it (but of course he does, because he cares, really).


	15. USUK - Modern/Human AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this after I came back from swim practice one day! And I'm mildly embarrassed that it exists, honestly. Oh well, we'll see how it goes.  
> This is another fic I wrote in a frenzy without editing or writing notes, so apologies for any incoherence.

Thursday was Arthur’s favourite day. To any other person, this may seem surprising, considering that it meant just another normal day of school - difficult classes and difficult people, and it wasn’t even the end of the week. But to Arthur, Thursday was a blessing, and he looked forward to it for the whole rest of the week.

The reason for this was simple- as with most other days of the week, after school finished, Arthur would head off to swimming. And swimming meant one thing- Alfred. Alfred- golden-haired and blue-eyed and oh-so-annoying-yet-perfect-in-every-way Alfred. Arthur was pretty sure that he had fallen for the guy from the minute he’d laid eyes on him. But, despite the fact that Arthur saw Alfred at swimming nearly every day of the week, Thursdays were special. The reason being that Thursdays were the days that Alfred got out of class fifteen minutes earlier than Arthur. Therefore, following simple logic, every Thursday, Arthur would arrive at the pool and be greeted with the heart-racing, gorgeousness of Alfred.

This led to only one possibility - Arthur was free to stare at that perfect body for an extra fifteen minutes every Thursday. Oh boy.

Of course, he had to be discreet. It was hardly appropriate to be ogling another guy’s chest in public, and Arthur had a reputation as a gentleman to uphold. Additionally, it was pretty weird, especially considering that it was pretty clear that Alfred did not in any way return his feelings.

Sure, they were friends. They’d chat every swim session and often swum together, sat together at galas and swim meets, and would sometimes even meet up outside of practice. But Alfred’s friendly demeanour around him was just the same as around anyone else, and to Arthur at least, that was a pretty clear sign that Alfred was NOT into him. Which was very unfortunate. Because _damn_ , that guy had some nice abs. Not, of course, that that was the only thing Arthur liked about him- he was kind, sweet, caring, annoying, charming in just about every way possible, and it was downright infuriating.

Swim bag hiked up on his shoulder, Arthur took his time walking to the changing room, trying to catch a glance of Alfred swimming through the glass doors leading to the pool. Unfortunately he had no such luck, and was hurried on his way by the person at the front desk clearing their throat pointedly at him. He blushed and walked briskly into the changing room, embarrassed. He was aware of the fact that he was acting like a complete weirdo, but it was all the more embarrassing to have it pointed out, and by a complete stranger no less. Hurriedly, he changed and walked out to the pool.

The rush of warm air enveloped him as he stepped out, and he could smell the sharp tang of chlorine that hung about. It was a smell he was well used to, having spent many hours in this very pool, perfecting his technique and raising his stamina. It was a smell that carried with it the knowledge of how to move in the water, movements so instinctive they had become as easy as breathing. It was a smell he relished, because it smelt like home.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a sudden thunderous splash from the other end of the pool. Lanes two and three had been reduced to white foam and spray, impressive clouds of water being thrown high into the air by the force driving them. At the forefront of each was a swimmer, body moving gracefully, powerfully as their arms raced to propel them forward, legs lost in the white of the spray. Both swimmers were intensely focused, taking deep gulps of air every time their head rose, eyes fixed determinedly at the finish line. 

It wasn’t long before the swimmer in lane three began to draw ahead. The other fought to catch up, but he was too far behind to catch his competition.

Within only a few seconds, the race was over, and both swimmers clambered out, breathing hard, and clapped each other on the back in congratulations. It was only then that Arthur recognised who each swimmer was- Toris had been in lane two; Arthur recognised his lithe form- it was no wonder he had lost in a fly sprint, being suited to longer distance swims. And it was also no wonder he’d lost, considering who he’d swum against- Alfred was saying something to him as he, too, took heavy breaths, probably congratulating him on a race well swum, and saying something cheerfully along the lines of ‘better luck next time, dude’ with that bright smile of his. Toris said something more and Alfred laughed, before he turned away to Feliks, leaving Alfred to recover from his swim.

He ran a hand down his face and then through his hair, wiping it clear from water, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he watched Alfred’s stubborn cowlick spring back up. His chest rose and fell heavily as he breathed, gulping air back into his lungs after a hard race. Arthur stared, mesmerised, as drops of water ran in rivulets down Alfred’s torso, and he found himself feeling a little bit stupidly jealous. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be the one to be touching that chest, to run his finger down the warm, hard muscle, feeling it work beneath his fingerti-

He was snapped from his daydream by a strong, wet arm around his shoulders.

“’Sup Art!” chirped Alfred’s voice in his ear.

Oh dear. Arthur fervently hoped his face wasn’t quite as red as it felt, because that would be _very_ embarrassing if it was.

“Get off me you git, you’re wet.” He snapped, trying to sound annoyed in an attempt to hide his (probably very obvious) embarrassment. Alfred laughed beside him, making no move to remove his arm (which, secretly, Arthur didn’t mind at all).

“Dude, it doesn’t matter! You’re gonna be too in a minute, anyway.” Arthur reddened even more at the (possible) implications of that statement, pretty sure Alfred didn’t realise quite what he’d just said. His mind scrambled for another topic of conversation, because so far, it was literally one sentence into their conversation and it was already a dangerous road to be treading.

“I saw your fly just now.” Arthur quickly covered, safely diverting the conversation and very determinedly setting his thoughts in line. Alfred turned to him with blue eyes dancing with excitement.

“You did? I totally kicked Toris’ ass, right?”

“Uh huh.” Replied Arthur noncommittally. “But he’s better suited for long distance, as you well know.” Alfred nodded and beamed down at him.

“Yeah, just like you!” he poked Arthur teasingly in the ribs and he yelped, blushing slightly. “But me, I’m built for the sprints!” Alfred practically glowed as he flexed his muscles, grinning cheekily at Arthur who shoved him away half-heartedly.

“Alright you big oaf, I know! You remind me of it at least every time I see you.”

“Hey, I’m totally not an oaf!” Arthur turned back to see Alfred striking a ridiculous pose, mock offended. “I’m just-“ and here he winked, striking another pose- “well built.” He finished with a flourish. Arthur scoffed.

“Sure. But I know you’re jealous that Ivan can still lift more than you.” Alfred huffed in annoyance.

“That’s a lie and you know it!” he grinned back down at Arthur who was mentally screaming. This was far too close for comfort. Well, rather it was _more_ than comfortable, but right now he was in public, and dressed in nothing but his swim trunks and- okay, he did NOT want to think about the implications of that right now. Alfred brought him hurtling back down to earth with a wink. “Don’t deny it, Artie, you love this bod.”

Arthur was pretty sure his brain had just short-circuited, and he stood gaping, scrambling for a response, face growing redder and redder. Oh _God_ , Alfred did _not_ just say what he thought he just did, what on earth was he meant to say in response, oh god, oh _god_ he was _not_ prepared-

Luckily Coach Aldrich chose that very opportune moment to stride through the double glass doors and start barking orders of warm ups over the babble of the swimmers in the pool area. Arthur took his chance and snapped out of his daze, attempting to look normal and roll his eyes at Alfred and will his ( _very_ red) blush to _please leave his face_ because _now is not the time_.

Casually (or what he _hoped_ was casually), he tossed Alfred a “Pssht, you wish,” over his shoulder and sauntered away to complete his warm up lengths, pointedly ignoring his thudding heartbeat.

 _God,_ that boy was _infuriating_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm internally screaming at my past self lol, that was an... experience.  
> My notes in my original document literally say at the top, 'I did NOT write this nope' so clearly I was even embarrassed at the time of writing. Why do I do this to myself.


	16. Nordic 5 - Modern/Human AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wholesome Nordic 5 coffee shop AU!

It was Lukas’ little corner of paradise. Tucked away in a cozy backstreet alley with only one or two other shops, the tiny coffee shop rarely saw too many visitors. Lukas knew his regulars well, as there were only a few, and quite frankly, that was just the way he liked it. The shop brought in enough money to pay the rent and to keep him going, no matter how small; and after all, he brewed excellent coffee.

Because of its size and location, it was rare for new customers to come to the shop. Sometimes they stayed, and kept coming back after that, and other times they did not, and perhaps they drank one single cup of coffee before hurrying away, and Lukas never saw them again. But he didn’t mind. He was a quiet person by nature, and enjoyed a quiet life.

Lukas employed no staff, save for one- Berwald, a tall, quiet, stoic and mildly terrifying Swede who came in every Wednesday and Saturday to make pastries and biscuits. He and Lukas got along well, although seldom spoke while they worked. Berwald appeared at first glance very intimidating, and definitely not the type of person Lukas would expect to find humming quietly to himself in the kitchen while he prepared the day’s pastries with almost heartbreaking care and gentleness. The hugely contrasting sight never failed to bring a small smile of amusement to Lukas’ lips as he rinsed some mugs in the sink.

Today, however, it was just Lukas behind the counter. He wiped it down wordlessly, rearranging some things slightly. He always opened early as his first customer was-

His thoughts were interrupted by the merry jingling of the shop’s bell as the door opened, letting in a gust of frigid wind. He spun around, cloth in hand, to be met with the sight of Tino shivering and stamping snow off his boots as he shut the door behind him.

‘Morning Lukas!’ He chirped brightly, unwinding his scarf and unceremoniously dumping his schoolbag onto a nearby table. ‘It sure is chilly out there today! I mean, I’m normally pretty good with the cold, but whew!’

‘Morning, Tino.’ Said Lukas, already taking a mug down from the shelf. ‘The same as usual?’

‘Yes, please.’ Confirmed Tino with a smile. Lukas busied himself brewing the coffee and readying the sugar and milk to add once it was done. Tino was always Lukas’ first customer of the day, and he came to the shop every day of the week except for weekends before he had to dash out of the door to get to his class. He was in his third year of university and busier than ever. Still, Lukas liked him and got along well with him, and was grateful that he still came in every morning despite his busy schedule.

Smiling, the Finn helped himself to a biscuit and bit into it, knowing Lukas wouldn’t mind. He closed his eyes in bliss. ‘Mmm. These are so good! Who makes them?’

Lukas smiled a little, pouring the coffee into the mug and adding the milk. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t met him yet. Somehow you always leave just a few minutes before he arrives.’ He stirred in the sugar and handed the steaming mug across the counter to Tino.

‘Thanks Lukas.’ Tino sighed happily, taking a long sip. ‘I’m basically dependent on your coffee. It’s the best in town!’

‘I’m glad you think so.’

The two sat in relative silence for a while, Tino drinking his coffee and Lukas watching the falling snow outside in the predawn light. The peace was nice, and Lukas drank it in, mentally running through a checklist of things he needed to do during the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn okay so this one was gonna be so wholesome; I'm so weak for Coffee Shop AUs haha.  
> Lukas obviously owns the shop, and Berwald works there, and Tino is a regular customer. But Tino always leaves just before Berwald gets there, so they never meet - until today! bc Tino stays to talk to Lukas and drink his coffee rather than taking it with him as he usually does ~ And the rest is history~  
> Matthias finds the shop by chance and becomes a regular there because of Lukas' ✨amazing coffee✨ and he stays and does his work there during the day (bc he's a freelancer or an entrepreneur or something idk) and some DenNor of course happens~~  
> And Iceland and Hong Kong hang out there together after school because platonic soulmates YES and I love them.  
> It's just ugh the wholesome vibes are too much I can't


	17. Arthur's Lonely Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Arthur has a big castle, all to himself. There are no servants, nobody to fill the large, echoing space with noise or presence. Until one day, another boy shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a Cardverse aesthetic, but it's only the two of them, alone inside the Spades castle. And also they're very little. Like, perhaps 7 or 8?

‘Hullo.’ Says Arthur. ‘How did you get here?’ 

‘Dunno.’ Says the boy. His voice echoes off the vast, cavernous stone arches of the empty ballroom. ‘Same way you did, I s’pose.’ 

‘Huh.’ Says Arthur, ponderously. ‘I’m not really sure how I got here. I just sort of, showed up one day. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember.’ 

‘That sounds like it would be really lonely,’ says the other boy. ‘I hate to be lonely, ‘cause being with people is fun! And being lonely is boring. Plus, my brother Matt is always around too, so I don’t get very lonely a lot.’ 

Arthur thinks for a second. ‘I like to be alone,’ he begins, slowly. ‘But sometimes it’s too lonely. There is no one around here. I’ve explored all over the castle and the grounds- I’ve had a lot of time, you see- but I’ve never met somebody else. Except for you.’ 

The other boy hesitates for a second, hanging back in the dusty shadows cast by the ballroom’s grand arches. And then he takes a step forward into the light, hair golden and eyes as blue as the forgotten beauty of the castle itself. He smiles. 

‘Well, I guess I’ll have to make you not lonely. Maybe that’s why I’m here. I’m Alfred by the way. What’s your name?’ 

For a second, Arthur is unsure how to react. But he hops off his perch and goes to shake Alfred’s proffered hand. His footsteps echo off the dusty floor of the ballroom and around the open space. 

‘Arthur Kirkland.’ He finally replies. 

* * *

‘That tree is blue!’ Exclaims Alfred, pointing excitedly to the Stellarium tree with its silver flowers glowing softly amongst the dark blue of the leaves. Arthur looks at him as if he is a madman. 

‘Are they not supposed to be?’ He asks. 

‘I thought trees were green!’ 

Arthur frowns. ‘Sometimes, if you climb up to the spire of the tallest turret of the castle, you can see far beyond the court garden’s walls. Spreading out before you is something amazing, larger than anything you have ever seen before.‘ He has Alfred’s complete attention now. ‘All around, there is land stretching out around you. In one direction there are mountains, with a river flowing through them, all the way down to here. In the other direction, there is a lot of blue. Some days it looks grey, though. I think that’s the sea- I’ve read about it in the castle library. But the most amazing thing is the colors. There are green trees, of course, but there are also yellow trees and orange trees and pink trees too. And these trees don’t always stay the same color, like the pink trees sometimes go brown. I don’t really know why though. But, it’s a very beautiful sight. I think, one day, I would like for you to see it with me, Alfred.’ 

Alfred looks stunned and doesn’t reply, and for a minute Arthur worries that he’s somehow said the wrong thing. But finally Alfred smiles and Arthur can feel it piercing right through his soul. 

‘I’d like to see that. Hey, Arthur, maybe one day, I’ll have something amazing to show to you.’ 

Arthur smiles slightly. ‘When that time comes, be sure to show me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more of an aesthetic story than anything else, because I got incredibly stuck with brainstorming the plot. The plan was to have them grow up and explore together, and get used to the companionship of having only one other person in the world with you. I intended to have the story follow them over a few years in snapshots of their lives.  
> The issue came when I had to come up with a reason for _why_ they're all by themselves in this wide world. My ideas were all rubbishly cliché - my notes literally say this: "Arthur and Alfred grow up together, alone in the abandoned Spades Castle. They get to know each other, make mistakes and learn as they grow up, and fall in love (but they never quite get there!) Maybe eventually it turns out that they were both in a coma and that was a shared imaginary world, or perhaps it was just Arthur’s world and he made up Alfred and can’t let go of him when he wakes. Or perhaps Alfred is someone in the real world who comes to visit Arthur. Or perhaps Alfred dies :/ and Arthur leaves him in the Spades Castle when he wakes up. Or perhaps Arthur dies and fades away from the castle, leaving Alfred. Ugh idk"
> 
>  **Bonus lines!** I never wrote this far so these lines were never included:  
> “Alfred, what kind of dance is this?” Sputtered Arthur.  
> “It’s a...” he grinned, twirling Arthur under his arm. “I dunno. I just made it up."
> 
> ‘Mmhmm.’ He said quietly, gaze lost somewhere between Alfred and the waves.


	18. The Adventures of Dumbledora The Explorer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god ok. This. This is a hot mess. Although I will not deny I enjoyed writing it...  
> This is the chapter that the tags "Knight!Alfred," "Knight!Francis," "Kiku is a rain sprite," "Arthur needs to stop," and "Crack" apply to...

Arthur tapped the teapot twice with the end of his stick. 

‘Thank you for coming to my tea party.’ He said solemnly. ‘It’s a pity Kiku couldn’t come; he really is a lovely fellow. Today we shall be drinking my special brew: Forest Leaf Tea.’ 

Francis and Arthur looked at each other in disbelief. Arthur continued talking, oblivious. 

‘It contains oak leaves to give one strength and determination, daisy petals to give speed and beauty like fairy wings, bramble leaves to allow one to defend their home with a prickly exterior, ash seeds to give one delicate and graceful conduct, juniper berries because they taste nice in tea, and some freshly picked sprigs of grass.’ With this, he sat down ceremoniously as Alfred and Francis stared at each other across the makeshift table, their expressions drawn in horror. 

‘ _Don’t drink it_ ’, mouthed Francis to Alfred, shaking his head so his golden locks swung slightly. 

Alfred quickly checked to see if Arthur was looking, but he was preoccupied with pouring the tea. 

‘ _I won’t.’_ Mouthed Alfred back at him, miming pouring the tea away. ‘ _It’s probably dangerous anyway.’_

_‘And it sounds disgusting.’_ Mouthed Francis in reply, pulling a face. 

Carefully, Arthur placed a chipped cup full of lukewarm water with the occasional piece of leaf drifting around the bottom of the cup in front of him. Francis stared at it in disdain while Alfred poked tentatively at some floating juniper berries with the end of his finger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I think I'm gonna need to give you my notes for context for this one.  
> "Fusion between Dumbledore, Dora the Explorer and APH England who is a recluse living in the woods who mutters to himself. He is friends with the faeries and wears a vest made of kelp that is stiff and dry most of the time until before it rains when it goes limp  
> He lives many miles inland and has never seen the sea  
> He has long hair on one side of his head and short on the other, and stubble on the side with long hair  
> It should be a fantasy AU with Knight!Francis and Knight!Alfred who both think he is a girl until he turns around  
> He is friends with Kiku who is a rain sprite and whenever he appears there is a beat of perfect stillness before it starts POURING with rain  
> Arthur should throw tea parties for Francis and Alfred and they should gradually start to make him normal again and then just as they manage to it turns out it was actually Feliks all along"  
> This was written on a flight with a friend when we were both EXTREMELY bored, please forgive us XD  
> Here is an extra line that I never managed to write in:  
> “Uh, ok? Sure thing dude, you do you...”  
> “Oh _non, non, non- mon cher,_ you cannot possibly hope to continue looking like that!”


	19. Dancing On Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professional Ice Skater!Arthur X Celebrity!Alfred. Inspired by the TV show of the same name, and because Elizaveta _WOULD._

Arthur Kirkland was not glad to be back. He had always thought these types of celebrity-reality-dance-on-stage shows were too showy and incredibly cheesy, and had been unpleasantly surprised to find himself chosen as one of the professional skaters on the previous season of the show. Clearly his ranking of Olympic gold-medalist had ranked him low enough to be used as cheap and mindless entertainment for the masses. To add insult to injury, on top of this, he had found himself paired with that  god -awful French woman (who had proved to be annoyingly good, to Arthur’s disdain, meaning that she made it through to the preliminary round and Arthur had to put up with her antics for the majority of the season). After  that experience, needless to say he was not at all thrilled when he had received a call two months ago asking him to return to the show for the new season, and therefore had immediately declined the offer. Unfortunately it had seemed that they were hell-bent on having him back on the show as one of the judges, Elizabeta Hèrdeváry, had personally reached out to him to ask him to participate. It had been embarrassing enough to have been asked twice, let alone personally, and by the show’s most popular judge, no less. And so, begrudgingly, he had accepted. 

The look in Elizaveta’s eyes had been slightly unnerving as she had stood up to leave, and Arthur shook her hand hesitantly, wondering just what it was he had just agreed to. 

* * *

Elizaveta clapped her hands in delight. ‘This season we have a special treat for you, as we have decided to do things a little differently this time.’ She paused for a couple seconds of dramatic effect as the audience responded enthusiastically to her comment, intrigued. ‘This season, instead of the normal male-female partners you are used to, we’ve decided to have an all-male cast!’ She cried, delighted, and the crowd roared with appreciation. 

Arthur ground his teeth in annoyance. Of course, this had been Elizaveta’s plan all along- it had her name written all over it. 

* * *

It took Arthur a couple of seconds to realise he was staring, and a couple more to realise that Alfred was staring right back. 

* * *

The sound of the door opening and then slamming alerted him that Alfred was here. Took him long enough, thought Arthur. Finishing his lap of the rink he spun around to face him, skates scraping against the ice. 

“There you are, finally! I thought you’d never show...’ 

Arthur stopped mid-sentence and swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. 

Alfred had clearly just arrived from work, looking as if he had run all the way- his hair was ruffled and he was breathing heavily, his face red. But that wasn’t what had caused Arthur’s words to die in his throat. The fact was, Alfred was wearing a suit. 

It was a very nice suit, Arthur remarked, and it fit him very, very well. It was tight in all the right places and seemed to be tailored custom to him. It had probably been expensive. Arthur couldn't deny it- Alfred looked cool. In fact, he looked downright _sexy._ Arthur gulped. 

"Arthur? Dude, you okay?" Alfred's voice cut into his thoughts, startling him out of his trance. He blinked and fixed Alfred with what he hoped was a disappointed glare. 


	20. Cardverse - The Kingdom of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how many times Feliciano reset the clock, it seemed he couldn’t escape his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GerIta Cardverse AU - I'll explain my ideas more in the end notes.

The lamps were burning low, cloaking the room in a warming glow, and throwing long, dark shadows across the floor. Outside the window, the Kingdom of Hearts was long asleep, the night air warm and still. Lanterns illuminated the towns in dappled light coloured pink by the blossoms that filled the trees lining the streets. It was a beautiful kingdom, Feliciano thought; possibly the prettiest of the four. He gazed out of the tall window with an absent-minded smile on his face, thoughts far away from the office he currently sat in and the quiet rustle of papers and murmur of occasional discussion behind him. While the rest of the kingdom slept soundly in their beds, the Kingdom’s three leaders still had much work to do. Or, at least, two of them did. 

‘Feliciano!’ An irritated voice snapped him quickly from his distant thoughts, and he turned to face back into the room. He was met with the King and Queen of hearts looking back at him; Kiku as calm and composed as ever, although upon inspection, Feliciano could see quiet amusement dancing subtly in his eyes, and Ludwig frowning at him impatiently. 

‘Feliciano.’ The king spoke again. ‘Were you even listening to me?’ 

‘No sir!’ Replied Feliciano cheerfully, smiling widely and saluting. Ludwig sighed deeply and put a hand to his forehead. 

‘I was discussing with Kiku how we should divide the kingdom’s budget across seven different areas while still keeping enough to keep us afloat in times of need.’ Ludwig looked over at Kiku, who smiled at him calmly and Ludwig visibly relaxed. The king and queen of Hearts balanced each other well- Ludwig tended to lose his temper easily, but Kiku was always just behind him to calm his rage before it got out of hand. ‘As the Jack of Hearts, you should really take your duties more seriously.’ Ludwig spoke sternly to Feliciano who felt his heart sink at the words. 

‘Awww,’ he whined, ‘you’re always so mean and scary, Ludwig! Why can’t you try to be nicer sometimes?’ 

The king looked like he was going to say something, but before he could, the Queen beat him to it. 

‘Feliciano-kun.’ He spoke calmly, 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first of all I love that the line where I left this is, "He spoke calmly".  
> Aight so the plan for this one was ANGST. Essentially, they're having this normal meeting, Feliciano isn't at all paying attention, as usual, when suddenly a bunch of assassins burst in, kill Kiku outright and gravely wound Ludwig, who dies soon after. Feliciano isn't killed (idk why, maybe they just thought he was too useless to worry about; I didn't make notes). However, he has an ace up his sleeve - he has a magical item that can turn back time (again, I don't have notes for this one so I have no idea). In short, this fic was supposed to be him turning back time to the beginning of the fic again and again and again, desperately attempting to change his fate, but it never quite works. Eventually, he has to come to terms with this, and realise that he can only let destiny take its course, and leave him to live with the consequences.


	21. No Matter How Much Time May Pass - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The statue in the old graveyard hides a secret: it can come to life when the sun sets. Besides that, however, he does not know much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So this is the very first proper fanfiction I ever tried my hand at writing! It is almost 14k words long and 3 chapters. If I had finished it, it would be ~20k words and 4 chapters, so I was infuriatingly close! I got stuck with the romance part, because I had no idea what I was doing, and _I_ felt embarrassed while writing any embarrassing parts!
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by [Living Stone](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7267858/1/Living-Stone) by [Terra Saltt](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2769518/Terra-Saltt) on Fanfiction.net. I read the fic in early 2018, during my second year in the fandom, when I was just starting to read fanfiction, and was very inspired by it lol. I asked for permission to use the AU, they said yes, and here we are... Terra Saltt, this is for you - I'm so sorry it's both unfinished and several years late!

_Winter, 1806_

Cold. The first thing he was aware of. A biting, numbing cold spreading over his body like a cruel blanket. Too weak to fight against it, he simply remained as he was; eyes shut tight, fighting the urge to shiver, refusing to give in.

Then came the pain.

It blossomed across his torso, down the side of his belly to his hip like white- hot lighting, stemming from a line of fire beginning from his chest and ending where his legs joined the rest of his body. This was it, he thought. The end.

He felt much too small for his body; not as if he was within someone else’s, but as if he had shrunk against the pain and the cold, as if they had beaten him down so he could do nothing but cower in terror, with nothing to give him shelter or solace from their merciless grip. Their long, cruel fingers seemed to reach into the depths of his mind, scraping away at the blackness, and he could almost hear their malevolent laughter echoing off the cavernous walls of his thoughts. He was falling into emptiness. He tried to whimper, to give some sign that he could still fight it, but found his voice wouldn’t work, and he wanted to curl up to hide from the pain, but found he couldn’t move, and so he simply stayed motionless, waiting for it all to be over.

He lay for what seemed like hours, and just as he was giving up hope of the torment ever ending, he felt the pain begin to ebb. It started off slowly, so small that it was almost imperceptible; first a drip, then a trickle, steadily continuing to swell in size and soon, what started as a stream soon became a river, gently washing away the agony until there was nothing left.

He felt rejuvenated.

Filling his lungs with air, the last vestiges of suffering falling away, a vague memory flitted up to the surface; _a promise he had made to someone_ ; before that, too, was gone, and his mind was empty again.

His body felt light, lighter than it had been for so long. But the cold was still there, making his bones ache and pricking his skin with little icy needles, and he still found himself frozen in place.

For a time, he was still as the old strength slowly trickled back into his limbs. He breathed slowly, _in, out, in, out_ , and over and over and over again, until he could be sure that he was no longer going to die, and that somehow, he had been saved.

He took a while to let himself experience the limitations of his body. He himself felt almost as if he were floating suspended in mid-air, and yet his feet were planted firmly on the ground, his hands folded one over the other. Again, he attempted to move them, but to no avail.

Finally, he felt ready.

His eyelids felt heavy as he opened them, as if they hadn’t been used in many years. He blinked a couple of times in rapid succession to clear the glare from his vision, and finally it focused and he could _see_.

Ahead of him, beneath an ashen sky choked with dark clouds like thick wool, there lay a plot of land surrounded by a low wall. Its ends were connected by heavy wrought- iron gates, their intricate design complete when closed. Beyond the wall lay a dense forest and a track leading through it that eventually curved away and out of sight.

Inside the wall, stone slabs stood upright in meandering lines, long shadows thrown out behind them from the setting sun. Most stood rigidly to attention, regimented, while others leaned forwards, as if tired and old. Some had flowers placed in front of them in various stages of their short lives, while others had weathered trinkets, damaged and faded by exposure to the unforgiving elements. Many had nothing, and simply stood alone, empty and melancholy, silently dreading the time that they would be forgotten.

A thick layer of snow had settled gently over the scene, as if it were a blanket of reassurance, wrapping everything in its soft embrace. Large, white flakes tumbled gently down from the grey sky, brought alive by the golden light of the sunset, alighting on bare branches, covering the top of the headstones, smothering the ground as one after the other after the other fell to join its brethren.

Heavy eyes widened a fraction as he took it all in. He was in a _graveyard_. Intrigued by this discovery and wanting to see more, he tried to turn his head to the left, and then to the right, but found he couldn’t. A snowflake settled gently on his nose and he tried to lift a hand to brush it away, but again, found he couldn’t.

He cast his eyes downwards to try and find the cause of this and stopped short.

He was stood atop a low wall of rough- hewn grey stone, the ends bowing to meet the ground. His feet were planted squarely on the wall’s flat top. His hands, covered by snow, rested in front of him on the hilt of a sword, the tip of the stone weapon touching the ground between his feet. All of him was the same grey as the stone, the soft folds of his clothes had been created with a hammer and chisel, every detail accounted for. From what he could tell, he was dressed in a military- style uniform designed every bit for practicality. Trousers tucked into mid- length boots and a jacket to go with it.

The stone clothes seemed to do nothing to stop the cold, but he still felt strangely warm. It was an interesting sensation- the outside of his body seemed to form a layer sensitive to the cold, feeling its slow encroach deeper into his flesh, but it abruptly stopped, and instead he only felt a pleasant warmth surrounding him. He felt cocooned in it, and he let it wrap around his small form. It was as if his outer layer was the stone, and inside he was just… himself. The thought reassured him, and he relaxed further.

He still felt as if his new body was too big for him. It didn’t feel unfamiliar- and from that he deduced that it was his own. It simply felt much too large, as if he had put on an adult’s clothes and he was still a child. Instead of the sleeves sagging and the waistband slipping, however, it seemed the stony exterior of his new form was keeping its shape rigid. He imagined that given time, he would grow into it, much like the clothes.

Another snowflake landed on his nose and he frowned.

If he was stuck here as a statue, unable to move, what a boring existence that would make for! He had no indication of how long it would be for. Thinking about it, he felt… young. He knew that wherever he had been before, he had been very little. There were other things, too, but he couldn’t quite remember them. The memories all seemed far away now, as if they were veiled by a thick curtain and he couldn’t quite get to them- they were always just out of his reach. He wrestled with the frustration of having forgotten it all.

Everything that had seemed so vivid just a few hours ago had now been pushed to a place where he couldn’t access; he couldn’t reach. He felt as if there were many important things he should be able to remember; colours and sounds and sensations, but they hovered just beyond where they should be. The more he tried to reach them, slowly, they began to sink away, and he was left alone in the darkening graveyard.

* * *

As he watched the shadows grow gradually longer as the golden light bathing the earth began to fade, he became aware of a loneliness that settled over him. It resembled the sunset; gradual, almost unnoticeable, creeping slowly up on him until suddenly the realisation that it was there gripped him. But it _was_ there, and as the darkness steadily gathered, so did the feeling. The lack of people about also bothered him. He figured that he had only been in this new place for roughly an hour, during which the gates to the graveyard had remained firmly shut. A feeling of uneasiness began to creep up on him, and he tried to push it away, telling himself that nobody ever came to the graveyard after sunset, anyway.

When the last hopeful streaks of golden light had faded from the dark sky, the feeling of uneasiness was beginning to brew its way into fear. He felt vulnerable and utterly exposed, standing out on top of the wall with nothing to guard him from his childish fears, nothing to hide behind. It was accompanied by a slight dizziness, and the feeling that his limbs were lighter. Silently, he put it down to adrenaline. He did his best to ignore his heart that was slowly building in its dull pulse towards a frantic rush that he knew would eventually overtake him. He tried to breathe slowly to calm his racing thoughts, but as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the bushes surrounding the plinth he was set on, the fear began to bubble just under the surface of any action he took. Heart racing, spine tingling, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus his thoughts.

He couldn’t be scared, he couldn’t. He was stronger than he looked, than he felt, than he knew. He couldn’t be afraid. He had to be strong _._ A quiet voice from somewhere far away drifted into his thoughts. _Hush now._ It was soothing, comforting. _Everything will be okay._

Another voice joined it, rougher and deeper in its sound. _You are stronger than you look, than you feel, than you know. Be brave. Be strong. Everyone is counting on you._ The words cocooned him, made him feel safe again. He would be alright. He is brave, and strong, and he couldn’t be afraid. He took another breath. Stilled his shaking hands. And opened his eyes.

It took one second, two seconds, and all at once the fear that had evaporated away was back, and it was boiling as if it were a storm, and it was _cold_ , so _cold_ , and brimming over, and he could feel his heart thudding in his chest, in his throat, and all his fear was spilling over, and spilling over, and unable to take it anymore his whole body moved of its own accord and he was running, running, blindly, into the night.

Snow crunched beneath his feet as he ran, he flew, carried on shaking legs and adrenaline past the melancholy gravestones and the long-dead corpses lying forgotten beneath them, past the tall, foreboding trees that towered over him and whispered things to each other, accusatory remarks about _him_ , because he was the outlier here, and he was so, so _scared_. 

Blind panic filled him to the brim as he still fled, tried to get as far away as possible from that place where he was alone and uncertain. And all at once he stopped, limbs heavy with dread as it occurred to him that he had moved from where he stood before. Heart still thumping wildly, he turned a slow circle in the biting snow to look where he had come from. A trail of footsteps led out behind him, leading to a low stone wall with a bush behind it, a bench in front of it, and atop it, an empty plinth.

In the pale moonlight, everything looked ghostly and deathly pale. The snow glittered with silent laughter at his fear that still flooded his body, twinkling as if it knew something he didn’t. He looked down at his shaking hands, ghostly as his surroundings. Slowly, incredulously, he raised one, and gently reached it up to his cheek.

He flinched at the touch, unsure what to expect even by his own hand. His skin felt firm and warm beneath his fingertip, living flesh as opposed to cold grey stone. He could just about make out the forest green of the clothes he was wearing. With his other hand, he felt it between two fingers- it was soft, and beginning to warm through from his body heat. The occasional snowflake settled on the fabric, before resting for a moment and then slowly melting, leaving nothing but a small dark spot where it had wet the fabric as a reminder that it had once been there. He let his breath gradually begin to slow as he wondered at his new form.

His command of this too-large body was a little awkward, and his movements were unrefined and slow now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. The darkness of night was quickly closing in now that the sun had set, and his eyes adjusted with it. 

The graveyard was relatively open, with only a couple of young fir trees dividing the section where the plinth sat and where he now stood. A wall still closed off the larger section, dark and foreboding, a silent sentry guarding the outside world. He turned away from its challenging glare, fighting the fear rising once again in his chest. He debated trudging back to the plinth and curling up on the cold stone beneath it where he could have some pitiful shelter from the unforgiving cold and relentless stillness and pressing silence. But the thought of the rustle of leaves beside him all night unnerved him, and he could already tell that his mind would want to play tricks on him if given such a wonderful sound to play with. No. For now he could not go back. In the gathering darkness, he felt alone and afraid with nowhere to hide. The fear from earlier was gone, and now was replaced with simply a crushing emptiness. Exhausted by the turbulence of emotion that had come over him in the past few hours, he simply sank slowly to the ground and let the freezing snow seep through his clothes. He wanted to curl up in the middle of the cruel, empty graveyard where he was utterly alone and just never move again. 

A gust of freezing wind rushed over him, whipping the snow into white whirlwinds. It swept into his face, found its way into his sleeves and collar, chilling him to the bone. He squeezed his eyes shut tight against it. That comforting cocoon of warmth from earlier was long gone, and he was left exposed out in the unforgiving graveyard, raw. 

He could not stay here. Not out here alone and unprotected. Unsteadily, limbs numb from the cold, he rose, and fought his way through the deep snow towards the imposing, dark wall surrounding the graveyard. At least it was better than nothing. When he reached it, he leant a hand against its uneven stones for support, no longer caring that he couldn’t feel his fingers from the bitter cold. Snow had piled in drifts against its foot, and he stumbled through it, unease pushed to the back of his mind as every thought was replaced with choking darkness and white, burning snow. 

He reached a corner and pushed on, unsure of what he would find. He let his hand trail numbly over the stones inlaid into the wall. It seemed like forever that he was walking gracelessly into the driving snow, nothing but emptiness ahead of him. Until there was something ahead of him, and, mind numbed by the white and cold, he walked straight into it. He let out a small sound of surprise as he fell backwards from the combination of the force and unexpectedness of it, before promptly doing a double take at the realisation that he could speak. 

He tried his voice again, cheeks burning in embarrassment at the silliness of it. There was no one around to hear him, why should he say it so meekly? He stood up from the freezing snow, shook the snow off his clothes as much as he could, cleared his throat, steeled himself, and tried again. 

“Hello?” 

So that was it. Just as he thought, nothing but darkness and snow. His voice still sounded shaky, reflecting his uncertainty. He sighed a little to himself as he felt the now-familiar loneliness settle over himself once again. 

He attempted to orient himself again, having lost the guidance of his hand along the wall. It was now too dark to see whatever he had run into save for a looming black shape in front of him. He shivered involuntarily and slowly turned around, trying desperately to see where he was.

Nothing but endless black. He turned to face the direction he had come from, just about able to discern his footprints in the deep snow. A breeze shook the snow from the trees at the other side of the graveyard and he could hear the soft _whump_ as it hit the ground. 

He stopped dead. 

He could have sworn he heard a sound that was just out of place. Heart thumping in his throat, he shakily looked over his shoulder at the blackness.

Adrenaline rushed to his limbs and he stumbled backwards, stifling a scream, and he toppled over into the snow. His heart pounded uncontrollably as he tried to scramble backwards, kicking the snow into drifts, and all the terror of earlier was back, and in full force, and he was _petrified,_ for there was someone standing in the empty space, silently watching him.

He wanted to scream but his voice had escaped him and all he could do is flail wildly in the deep snow, while the figure still looked on, stoic and silent. 

His kicking legs and wildly swinging arms dug his body deeper into the snow, and he tried to hide himself in it. Snow tumbled into his eyes, but he ignored the searing cold, ignored the fact that he was shivering and simply curled in on himself again, closing his eyes as tightly as he could, becoming as small as possible against the cold and the fear. 

By the time he could breathe again, several minutes had passed. The snow around him was melting and the water was seeping through his clothes, dampening them and adding to their weight. He lay huddled in the hole in the snow for a minute more, gradually becoming aware of the violent shudders wracking his body. 

Finally, he opened his eyes again. 

He had forgotten that the figure had been standing in front of him, silent as the falling snow, and he jumped, fear once again striking his heart, but he forced himself to stand up, out of the snow, to stand tall, to put on a pretence that he was strong and brave and not afraid when in reality he was none of those. 

The figure standing in front of him glared at him with icy blue eyes, their gaze colder than the snow. Disgust was apparent in them, and disappointment. He felt himself quake slightly as they wordlessly scrutinised him, but he did his best not to show it. The figure was wrapped in a thick bearskin cloak over a blue tunic. He stood perfectly still, not even the long blond hair hanging loose over his shoulders disturbed by the whirling wind. 

There was something about the man that he couldn’t quite place. He found himself squinting through the darkness at him. Distracted, he almost didn’t hear when the man spoke. 

“You look pathetic.” The disgust divulged in his eyes was undisguised in his voice, and the words struck him like a physical blow. Abruptly, he straightened, hands curled into fists and a look of indignation scrawled across his face. But just a glance at those mercilessly cold eyes and all the resentment melted away, and he simply felt like crying. 

Before the first tear could fall, however, the man spoke again, the hard, cold edge to his voice sharp like a knife. 

“Pathetic, as I thought.”

And then the tears did come, and left icy pathways down his face, burning with shame. His lip trembled as he fought to stay silent. 

The tears dripped into the snow. 

“Stop.”

He started in surprise. His own voice had betrayed him. He chanced a look up. The man’s eyebrows were arched in obvious surprise. 

“You’re being mean. Stop.” He repeated.

A flicker of bewilderment replaced the coldness in the man’s eyes, his guard slipping for a second, but just as soon as it had appeared, it was gone again. The man made a small grunt of approval. 

“Perhaps not as pathetic as I thought.” 

He stayed facing the dark snow, face still burning with shame. He looked up after a pregnant silence, as if prompted to do so by a silent, invisible force. The man’s eyes stared back at him. “You wish to know who I am?”

He nodded, although uncertain. “Then follow me. I cannot stay here too long.” The man turned on his heel, wasting no time. As he walked, his strides purposeful, he lagged behind the man a little, apprehensive. With every step he took, he became increasingly aware of the soft _crunch_ of his boots as they sunk into the snow, and the unnerving silence by contrast of the man’s footsteps a few paces ahead. A gnawing fear began to pick at his insides, and it grew with every step. He chanced a glance behind him, and upon confirming that there _was_ only one set of footprints in the snow, he found he couldn’t let the fear sit any longer. 

“Are you a ghost?” the man didn’t even slow his long strides at his timid question. He peered ahead at the fast receding shape of the man ahead of him. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little louder. “Are you- I mean, Sir? Are you a ghost?” he winced slightly at the tremor in his voice.

The man stopped abruptly at the question and turned around to face him. 

“No, I am not a ghost. You and I… we simply died before our time.” He clambered up onto a hulking stone tomb behind him, and beckoned the other closer. 

He took a step towards the tomb, apprehension replaced with a curious mix of wonder and fear. 

“I-I’m… dead?” 

The man brushed the snow off the edge of the tomb and settled himself there. 

“You were. And now you are alive. You were given another chance.”

He almost found himself speechless again, but another question formed itself in his mind. 

“And you?”

The man lowered his head, hiding a sombre smile. He spoke again, his voice quiet. 

“The only person who cared enough to give me one perished long before me.”

Neither spoke for a time, snowflakes continuing to silently fall. He turned the man’s words over and over in his head. He had been dead. Perhaps that was the agony he had felt hours earlier, why it had receded so quickly. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t grasp his memories despite them being so close, and why he couldn’t even remember his own name. The more he thought, the more he had to know. 

“Who are you?”

The man looked up sharply, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. 

“My name?”

He nodded vigorously. The smirk grew ever so slightly more pronounced, twisting almost imperceptibly. 

“My name is Aldrich.”

“Aldrich.” He repeated dutifully. He let the unfamiliar name sink in, curiosity again growing. “Aldrich.”

“Yes?”

“What is my name?”

Aldrich smirked slightly again, a self-satisfied expression, but he hardly noticed in his curiosity. 

“Why, you will be needing a new one, won’t you?” Aldrich turned away from him to think. 

“Why can’t I just have my old-“

“Ludwig.”

“I- pardon?”

“Ludwig.” Repeated Aldrich, firmly and finally. 

“But-“

“That is your name.” a glare accompanied the warning tone carried in the words. “And I suspect, _Ludwig_ ,” he continued, before he could be interrupted, “that you will want to know all I have to tell you.” Aldrich took his silence as a confirmation. “In your current state,” he began, gesturing vaguely to his right, indicating the plinth where he had come from, “you are bound by a few rules.” Here he paused, as if emphasising the importance of this list. 

“Firstly. You cannot leave the graveyard. Don’t even bother trying. Secondly. You, or, rather, your statue, is situated above a place where people have prayed for their loved ones since ancient times. Many tell their troubles to the kind face of the statue that you now inhabit. Don’t be surprised if they do. Thirdly. You cannot communicate in any shape or form as a statue, as you may have already figured. And finally. As soon as the sun begins to rise, you will be tugged back to your plinth by some invisible force. You will stand in the same position you began in. Do not try to fight it. This is your only warning.”

Silence fell once again as he struggled to take it all in. 

“How do you know all this?”

Aldrich only shrugged. “I am merely telling you all that applies to me, and assuming its relevance to you.”

Ludwig frowned. He still had one more question weighing on his mind. Aldrich’s words had been stern and each point spoken in quick succession and he once again had struggled to remember it all. 

“Aldrich?” 

“Yes?” Aldrich spoke with a hint of telltale irritation creeping into his voice.

“How is it that I’m here? If I was dead, but I was given another chance- how?”

Aldrich waved his hand in dismissal of the question, clearly hoping to avoid it. Although his serious expression had not slipped from his face, aggravation glinted clearly in his eyes. He snuck a glance at Ludwig standing in the snow below the tomb, looking hopefully up at Aldrich. He was evidently trying to keep the glance subtle, but Ludwig caught it, and Aldrich seemed to realise that he didn’t have a choice but to answer. 

“Your spirit was simply transferred to the statue.” He said dismissively. 

“And why… why is it that I feel as if I’m inhabiting such a large body?” he gestured to himself, attempting to explain the bizarre sensation. 

“You were only a child when you died.” Aldrich’s expression grew a little wistful. “Give it time. You’ll grow into it.”

Aldrich turned to leave, but Ludwig interrupted him.

“I still feel as if there is something important that I need to do. But I can’t remember anything.” He waited with baited breath for an answer, but the one he was looking for never came. There came the sound of a distant bell tolling forlornly, and he counted twelve successive peals. It filled the silence around the swirling snow.

“It is time for me to go.” Said Aldrich frostily. “Goodnight.” As the last dull echoes of the bell faded away, Aldrich vanished, leaving only the cold stone of the tomb in his wake.

Ludwig stood in the stifling silence and the thick, blanketing darkness for a few seconds longer, utterly alone and feeling hatred beginning to grow for Aldrich. He was no friend nor ally of his. He wouldn’t give Ludwig the answers he so desperately wanted. There was no way Ludwig was going to listen to a word he said.

Angrily, he stormed away from the tomb, kicking snow left and right as if he could take out his anger on it. He thundered past the rows of sombre gravestones, stomping though the snow, past his plinth to the graveyard gates.

Aldrich thought he couldn’t get out, then fine. He could just watch him.

The intricate design of the wrought iron gates was much more pronounced up close, beautiful swirls and graceful arcs meeting and sweeping in cold iron. Broad leaves branched elegantly off iron vines, wrapping around each other. Snow had settled over the top of every branch, giving the gate a magical aura, almost as if they were the gates to heaven.

The gates weren’t padlocked shut, simply bolted, and Ludwig slid the freezing metal out of its catch with a screech, snow tumbling off onto the floor as the gate shook with the disturbance. He grasped the numbing cold metal, wrapping his fingers carefully around the gate, steeling himself, before pushing as hard as he could.

The snow settled on the other side of the gate made it much more difficult than it should have been to open the gate. He stepped slowly forward, straining against the weight of the sky.

Finally, the gates stood open, and he stood outside the oppressive walls of the graveyard. He could already taste his freedom.

He was one second away from turning around to leer at Aldrich about his victory, yelling wildly into the dark and empty graveyard, even though he knew Aldrich had already gone. But all at once he was gripped by such an intense pain that the breath was knocked from his lungs, and it was all he could do to stay standing.

His chest felt constricted, crushed as he gasped desperately for air. His whole body was flooded with a searing, white hot pain, as if fire now ran through his veins, and he hardly heard his own screams. His head swam, his vision going blank, overtaken by pure white, as if he was buried deep in the snow. His throat was hoarse and raw from screaming, but the feeling that his very soul was being ripped from his body would not go away.

_This is your only warning._

Aldrich’s words echoed mockingly in his mind through the white oblivion, sparking a last, desperate idea. Unbearably close to his breaking point, he stumbled back through the open gates, and seemingly as soon as the agony had begun, it was gone.

Exhausted, he collapsed face-first into the snow, ragged sobs escaping him. He felt totally broken. Humiliation and anger washing over him, the crushing realisation that Aldrich was right haunted him, and he knew with sickening certainty that he would have no choice but to accept it.

Every word Aldrich had said was right. He only had to be warned once.

Eventually, as the grey streaks of dawn began to discolour the sky, he dragged himself slowly back to the plinth.

There was no reason to doubt Aldrich anymore after that. He wasn’t going to risk it a second time. He watched blankly as the world was bathed in gold, eyes unseeing as the day broke. He simply stood, defeated, feeling his body turn gradually back to stone as the world lit up with light and joy.


	22. No Matter How Much Time May Pass - Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the previous chapter.

Ludwig did not return to the tombs the next night, or the night after that, and before he knew it, a week had passed, and then two, and then a month had slipped through his fingers, and two, and three, and still, he had not returned. He felt as though he should, as if he had unanswered questions, important ones that needed desperately to be answered, but simply the thought of Aldrich’s twisted smirk caused bitter anger to rise again in his chest.

Ludwig spent his nights lonely, cold and afraid, the sickening truth that he was trapped in the graveyard a heavy thought hanging in his mind. In the fleeting seconds that he built up the courage to step out into the darkness, he managed no more than a few steps out into the gradually vanishing snow before he ran back to the plinth, overcome by fear. It only served to worsen the fear that he couldn’t see the rest of the graveyard during the daytime, trapped inside the body of the statue, unable to move.

The voices echoing in his memories that had soothed him on that first, awful night were long gone, and though he longed for them back, they did not return. He kept their words in his head, turning them over and over, and they kept him going. He did not take the time to stop and wonder at just how he had made it this far alone, for fear that he would begin to falter.

During the day, a few people trickled in and out of the graveyard, praying for their loved ones and leaving their footprints in the snow. The snow by the gate had lost its purity and was slushy and discoloured with mud. Occasionally, as Aldrich had said, people would take a seat on the bench in front of Ludwig’s statue, or kneel in the wet snow below the plinth and pray for their loved ones. Many would take the time to tell stories of them, or ask questions that they knew would only go unanswered. More than once, people had sat in front of him and silently cried.

Ludwig’s heart ached for every person entering the graveyard gates. Each and every one of them had lost someone dear to them, close to their heart, someone irreplaceable. He lost count of the times he heard the mournful tolling of the funeral bell. He had given up counting the rings; nine for a man, six for a woman, and three for a child. He felt his heart breaking just a tiny bit more every time he caught sight of a funeral procession enter the gates, jet-black night against the white snow of stars.

Knowing that he couldn’t help these people was the worst part, knowing that he couldn’t offer any comforting words, could only imagine what to say to soothe their battered hearts, and knowing that even if he could do all that, he still couldn’t bring the dead back to life.

And then night began to fall again, and people began to leave, and the gates were shut and Ludwig was left alone with only the snow and the moon and himself and that crushing, awful loneliness for company. He was trapped in a seemingly never-ending cycle.

He found himself growing frustrated, and almost angry with whoever had brought him back to life. He hated being so confined and so alone and so afraid and feeling so _weak_. He often felt Aldrich’s stern gaze burning accusingly into his back, but not once did he turn to acknowledge it. He knew all he would be met with were mocking, ice blue eyes.

Over these three lonely months, the snow was slowly beginning to melt, and less fell at a time, with storms becoming more and more infrequent. Ludwig noticed the sky growing gradually lighter each night, and, with a sickening sense of dread, the nights shortening ever so slightly with each that passed. 

Shy, dark green shoots were cautiously pushing their way up through the snow around the base of Ludwig’s plinth, and he took careful care of them, clearing the snow away and removing any pests whenever he could. The plinth was fast becoming his safest place in the graveyard, and he sat with his back against it, letting its rough, reassuring touch soothe him as much as it could.

He found his movements still a little jerky, although he was learning to control his adopted body. And he was gradually feeling more and more comfortable in it, it was beginning to be his own. He could feel himself shrugging off the cloak of his past.

It was with an overhanging sense of regret that he did this, feeling that it was far more important than he realised. At the same time, he still wrestled with his earlier frustration at having everything out of his reach, and so the regret was mixed somewhat confusingly with relief.

And, he reasoned, after the utter trauma of starting this new chapter of his life, he wanted a fresh start. He wanted to strip off the layers of bitterness and fear and worry and every other negative emotion he had felt and replace it with whatever pitiful amount of positivity he could find in this dark, cold place. 

And so, he tended to the shoots that would soon become flowers in hope of giving new life in the place of such death.

-

By the time the flowers had bloomed, Ludwig witnessed something that affected him so immensely that he found it could not leave his mind.

The shoots had grown longer and up, out of the snow with his tender care, and had pushed out buds at the ends of the slender stems. Within a day, they had begun to open out, revealing snow white hidden behind a forest green, the color of his uniform. _Snowdrops_ , they were called. He had discovered this upon overhearing the quiet words of someone who had stopped to speak of their loved one to Ludwig’s statue.

The name fitted them perfectly; the flower was a delicate teardrop of purest white, fragile as falling snow. His heart warmed at the thought that it was because of his care of them that they had been able to bring joy to the graveyard.

He was gazing at the snowdrops fondly in the early spring sunlight when his attention was diverted by movement at the graveyard gates.

His eyes flickered up to see whoever had just entered, and time seemed almost to stop.

A funeral procession of seven people was walking through the gates, step by step, seeming to move as if submerged deep in the ocean of his thoughts. With every step further the party took, Ludwig became increasingly aware of his heart thudding in his chest, louder and louder, and he felt a sharp fear begin to wash over him, his vision beginning to swim slightly.

The party was led by two men and a woman, followed up by two more men, all young adults. Both the woman and one of the men at the back each carried a small child. Ludwig could see them in more detail as they walked closer.

The first man at the back looked guilty as anything, regret clearly scrawled across his face as he tried to hide behind his long, blonde hair. His steps were the slightest bit unsteady in the slushy snow. Next to him, a brown-haired man with sun-kissed skin walked. In his arms, he carried an angry-looking child with a flyaway curl of hair who he was talking to quietly, clearly trying to console the child despite the pain on his own face, but the child didn’t seem to be listening or to care, and turned away in the man’s arms. 

The three leading the party walked hand in hand.

The man furthest from him had hair as white as the snow and, Ludwig could see even from this distance that he had striking red eyes, but they were brimming with unshed tears that he was clearly fighting hard to keep from falling. The man looked utterly devastated, his head hanging like the snowdrops that had pushed themselves up through the snow, fighting so hard to get to where they were. He looked like he was holding himself together with the barest thread of reality. No matter how hard he was trying to keep his composure, there were cracks in his paper-thin facade. A single glance and Ludwig felt as if a hole had been ripped right through his chest, and he gasped with the unexpected pain of it. The man gripped tightly with a visibly shaking hand to that of the slender man beside him.

The man had one wild curl that stuck up from the front of his rich, dark brown hair. _The color of sachertorte_ , his mind provided, although he did not recognise the word, and he frowned that there was something else he did not know. The man’s face was severe, but the closer he walked, the more Ludwig could see pain swimming in his eyes. His hand was clasped reassuringly with that of the woman’s next to him.

Her long, brown hair was swept neatly out of her face, and tucked behind her ear was a single, pure white flower. In her free arm she carried a child wearing a white dress, but she was turned away from Ludwig and he could not see her face. The instant he laid eyes on her he felt a swell of something powerful rise up inside of him, and he longed more than anything else in the world to reach out and touch the child. She did not deserve to be here. This place was for the dead. It was full of grief and sorrow and not a place for the beautiful, free and innocent. His chest felt constricted as he drew breath from the freezing air.

The group trudged through the snow, growing closer and closer, and Ludwig found he could almost not bear the fear that was rising inside of him and the pain that he felt for everyone in this family before him, and the certainty that he had never, in his whole, improbable existence, felt something so painful. And he was somehow certain that he never would again.

The seven walked to a gravestone a small distance away from him to his left. There they stopped, each standing around it to form a circle. A small circle, encompassing the life of whoever had left them, and Ludwig knew, just as they knew, that the circle was not going to be enough. It was never going to be enough. Not the fact that they were together, that they were _there_ , or that they cared so, _so_ much, or even were completely broken- it was never going to be enough.

The dead were gone- they had served their time, their purpose. Even if it was not enough time, or an unfulfilled purpose, or perhaps worse; a purpose so fulfilled that it could never be forgotten, that the amount of hearts it had touched could never be expressed, that the love that had flowed out of them could never be reciprocated in a million lifetimes- it would never be enough.

People go on and on about how life is a gift, but what they don’t realise is that people are only brought here to watch their loved ones die. To watch so many millions of lives before them fall away at the slightest touch, to be left alone, final, broken.

It was so cruel. It was so unbearably cruel that Ludwig found he could no longer watch, and he turned his eyes away as the adults in the circle silently, without another word, exchanged funeral rings, jet black and as empty as their broken hearts.

He only wished that he had the power to turn his ears away as well, as the funeral bell began to toll, the strike of the peal seeming to grow louder and louder, consuming him, reverberating through his body, becoming white noise, yet it was all he could hear. He tried to shut it out, to scream, to do anything to stop the awful, dreadful sound fill his mind, but there was nothing he could do. He counted the tolls.

One.

Two.

Three.

And silence.

Silence, thick and suffocating, swallowing the whole world in a single breath.

A child.

A child had died.

It was… impossible to describe. It was more than unfair, it was more than gut-wrenching, it was more than excruciating.

And then, slicing through that smothering silence came the sharp, desperate sound of a child beginning to wail.

He opened his eyes again, startled, only to find them swimming with unshed tears. Hurriedly he blinked them away, but they were simply replaced with more, and they ran in rivulets down his face as he stood silently, sadness deeper than he could have ever thought possible filling him to the brim and spilling over, until he, too, was sobbing, gasping for uneven breaths as the sadness flooded out of him and he was powerless to stop it.

He could hear the other child’s sobs beginning to ebb, with soft whispers from the woman cradling her in her arms. “Hush now.” She whispered, soft and soothing, and Ludwig felt his own tears begin to slow in their torrent. “Everything is going to be okay.”

The child tugged on the front of the woman’s dress, a question on her lips.

“Miss Hungary? Miss Hungary, why did Holy Roman Empire have to leave?”

The woman gently smoothed the child’s chestnut hair and held her closer. She didn’t give an answer. Instead she slowly rocked the child in her arms, comforting the child as best she could even as her own tears continued to silently fall.

-

The night brought nothing new. The family departed long before the sun set, but left behind their footprints in the snow, devastating sadness and a lingering memory. Ludwig sat in the snow, leaning against his pedestal, shattered. Simply bearing witness to that one funeral had drained him completely, and he felt the shell of a person, someone who had simply been filled with unbearable sadness as if it were a poor substitute for who they once were. The fear was still there, but it seemed now like nothing but a dull memory of what it once had been, pushed to the back of his mind and throbbing there like an old wound. He felt broken. He was utterly unsure of himself but felt like crying again, crying for hours and hours until he was all out of tears, and this time he knew there would be no one to comfort him.

The melting snow was wet and slippery, and he felt it wetting his clothes where he sat, but paid it no mind. He did not seem to notice the biting cold either, and simply felt numb. He let his mind remain blank and simply sat in the silence and darkness of the night, alone again.

Several hours passed before he was aware of a flicker of a thought in the depths of his mind. The moon had risen high and the night was clear, and the snow shone as if it were made of silver. A ghost of a breeze rustled the treetops in the cold night air, and the snowdrops beside him nodded their heads in the gentle wind.

A thought struck him and he rose to his feet. He had felt so inexplicably drawn to the family of seven he had watched that day, had felt so connected, and felt so fiercely like he belonged. That he belonged somewhere, instead of here, this nowhere- it felt like he had been handed back a shard of his shattered self.

Glancing around at the empty graveyard, he felt a surge of the old fear stir within him once again, but he pushed it down and focused on where he wanted to go.

The gravestone that he had seen that very day, the circle of footprints surrounding it, as if they were encircling the deceased child in their arms, holding him close and telling him how much he was needed, and missed, and loved. He took his time walking towards it, taking only a single step at a time. He could feel the moonlight on his skin and his clothes, giving him gentle silver encouragement to keep on going. Just a single step at a time.

He walked amongst the long-forgotten gravestones, the names faded from their faces, leaning over, old and tired. He walked past the gravestones standing sentry, regimented and proud, defending the ones buried beneath them. He walked until he stood outside the circle of footprints in the snow, surrounding a single, solitary gravestone.

It looked newly placed, the earth freshly turned around it and free of a blanket of snow. Ludwig knelt in front of it and reached out hesitantly to brush his fingers against it.

The smooth stone was frigid, and his fingertips burned with the sensation. But he did not pull them away, and ran his fingers over the words engraved onto the smooth face of the stone. He struggled to read what they spelled out, and he tried to sound them out, growing increasingly frustrated with every time the letters didn’t make sense. Finally, after several minutes, he felt he had figured it out, and he sat back to read it as one.

_Otto Beilschmidt_

_He loved and was loved_

_May God keep you_

_1806_

Ludwig frowned at the unfamiliar name, confusion ripping his heart in two, and letting the two sides sink through his body to the ground below. He had been so _certain_ , so sure that he had felt a connection; that something here would help him to remember.

But there was nothing here but a gravestone. A gravestone, cold and black, inscribed with nothing but a name he did not know.

For the second time that day, he sat silently and cried. 

There was nothing for him here; not even a date of birth or an age of the child. Nothing. Ludwig placed a hand over the grey letters, feeling his heart breaking all over again.

He sat silently, unmoving in the melting snow for several minutes, mind so clouded with grief that it was choked with it and not a single thought could surface the grey.

There he sat, in the snow and in the dark, listening to the silence of the night, feeling sick with anguish. He didn’t move from his seat in the slushy, grey snow as the moon continued to rise higher in the sky. He simply let himself exist, unable to do anything else as his soul was washed away. He did not cry, he did not speak. He simply sat beside the gravestone, alone in the darkness of the night.

It was only when the distant, forlorn peal of a bell struck eleven that he stirred. It occurred to him, however unpleasant and accompanied by his stomach turning with dread, that he should ask Aldrich.

Aldrich. He hadn’t spoken to him in months. Not since that first, awful night. Ludwig felt the hatred for him that he had come to know so well begin to stir inside of him, and he grimaced, pushing himself to his feet, up and out of the snow.

It didn’t matter now, what Aldrich told him. It didn’t matter that he lied, that he would not give answers, that he openly mocked Ludwig; none of it would matter, because Ludwig simply could not take another moment. He could not bring himself to drag his battered soul through each and every day, and through each and every dark and lonely night that would inevitably follow.

Shaking the snow off his clothes, he retraced his steps back through the graveyard, exhausted. He did not care now what the fear told him, or how far he had to go; he simply put one foot in front of the other, hearing his boots crunch as they broke the thin layer of ice covering the thinning snow.

He walked past his empty plinth, not even sparing a glance down at the snowdrops surrounding its base; he walked out into the open darkness, out to where he knew the tombs were, and where he knew Aldrich would be waiting. Just a single step at a time.

When he got there, there was no one there.

It was as if that first night had never even happened, and there was nothing but crisp, undisturbed snow surrounded by the silent tombs. Somehow, they didn’t seem nearly as imposing as when he had first seen them.

He walked to the opening of the circle of tombs, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Nothing did.

“Aldrich!” he called into the darkness.

His only reply was a gust of wind rustling the treetops. He waited, for something, _anything_ to happen. Nothing did.

Anger beginning to boil in his gut, worsened by the turmoil of emotion that had overcome him throughout the day, he shouted again, venom lacing his tone.

“Aldrich, you _coward_! Stop your hiding and give me _answers_!” as much as he sounded childish, he didn’t care anymore.

For several seconds, there was no response. Until, in the middle of the circle of tombs, feet so light they did not break the snow; there was a shimmer in the air, and Aldrich stood before him, a dangerous and deadly glint in his eye. He did not utter a word. Another breeze danced around them both, eerie in the still night. Aldrich seemed so out of place, the wind not even tugging at his hair; it was as if it simply passed through him.

Ludwig took a step forward. He was not going to wait any longer. He _deserved_ answers.

“Aldrich.” His tone steady, yet dangerous and low, he addressed the man. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Aldrich still gave no reply, and Ludwig felt irritation begin to prick at his gut. He took another step forward as he spoke, forceful and demanding. “I deserve to know what you have denied me. _Who_ am I? _Why_ am I here? Why did I feel so connected to those people I saw today? _Who_ were they?!

With every word he spoke, his voice rose in volume, louder and louder until he was shouting wildly, accusing words echoing off the graveyard walls, shattering the stillness of the night. With every question he stepped closer, a single step at a time, until he was standing face to face with Aldrich.

They stood so close that Ludwig could feel the very slight disturbance of the air as Aldrich breathed, evenly and measured; in, out, in, out. He could see the regular rise and fall of his chest as he drew breath, the layers of fur draped over his shoulders moving almost imperceptibly. If he dared look down, dared to break eye contact with the scornful ice blue that bored into his very soul, he knew that just by that simple action, he would have lost. Lost it all, however fragile, however small; the power he held that allowed him to stand here, facing Aldrich down.

All this flashed through his head in a single instant. The silence was heavy around him. Aldrich’s eyes bored into him as they stood, locked. Ludwig’s eyes were dark, threatening.

But there was something in Aldrich’s eyes; something was changing, moving, almost imperceptible. Ludwig peered closer, trying to decipher the change through the darkness.

He felt his features soften slightly into a frown.

And that’s when he knew it; knew he’d lost. The emotion betrayed in Aldrich’s hard, cold eyes revealed itself- clear, undisguised smugness at his triumph, and utter disgust at Ludwig’s failure.

Ludwig felt his stomach sink. His anger dissipated in an instant; his small victory plummeted, and so did his heart. Everything. Everything he had just rebuilt within himself -- it all collapsed, pulling his composure with it. His face, he knew, betrayed his helplessness, his utter _terror_ that Aldrich had just beaten him. And all it had taken was a single, ice blue glance.

Anger rushed to his head, adrenaline powering through his body. He was a second away from lunging forward, from _throttling_ this _creature_ before him, when slowly, echoing and dull, the chapel bell began to strike midnight.

He had lost.

He was too stunned to say a word, but he knew that his eyes would betray him again, just as they already had.

And Aldrich saw that, too, as slowly, deliberately, his mouth turned up in a smirk. The bell continued to toll, but Ludwig did not hear it, the echo turning to white noise in his mind. His vision was filled with that mocking smirk, overtaking his senses, and all that filled his mind was one single word, over and over and over, overlapping itself; no, no, no, no, _NO!_

Ludwig knew, with absolute certainty, that he _hated_ Aldrich.

And once again, as the dull peal of the bell faded away into the darkness, Aldrich vanished too, leaving only crushing humiliation and that wicked, twisted smirk lingering in his mind.

Ludwig stood in the darkness for a split second longer in the snow and the silence, before his legs gave way and he sank to the ground, once again utterly crushed.

He screamed into the snow, hurled fistfuls of it at the spot where Aldrich had stood just seconds before. He felt tears of anger and anguish run down his face, blurring his vision, but he ignored them. He knew he looked pathetic, childish, mad even, but he did not care.

After a time, he was so utterly broken and exhausted, he could not bring himself to cry another tear, hardly to draw another breath.

Shakily, he dragged himself to his feet. He may have lost this battle, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat.

“ _Aldrich_!” he screamed at the sky, at the snow, at the hulking stone tombs where he knew Aldrich was hiding. “I’m glad you’re dead! I’m glad you will never get a second chance because you _don’t deserve it_! I’m glad you are stuck here, day after day, night after night, unable to leave, and I hope you are stuck here for the rest of _eternity_!”

He screamed until his throat was hoarse and raw, until he was out of breath, and finally he stopped, gasping raggedly for gulps of the freezing night air, clouds of white misting in front of him.

Finally, he turned on his heel and tried to walk away looking as proud, and as strong as he could, but he found it simply impossible. He was so tired, and so upset, and so, utterly broken that he could hardly even bring himself to stand up straight.

He walked back to his plinth, where he collapsed against it, exhausted, far too exhausted to cry anymore.

He stayed that way, until finally, once again, the morning light began to creep across the sky and he felt that now-familiar tug in his chest as the world was once again bathed in gold, and he stood broken.


	23. No Matter How Much Time May Pass - Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have of this, and it's unfinished.

_Early Spring, present day_

Sometime around the fifty-eighth winter, Ludwig stopped counting. He found himself beginning to forget the number, and so let it slip from his mind, and instead measured the passing of time by the dates inscribed on the gravestones that now filled the graveyard almost completely.

For a time, there had been funerals held several times a day, and the stream of mourning people walking through the gates seemed to never end. The funeral bell seemed to endlessly toll, becoming a sound as familiar as the wind through the trees and the stifling silence of the deep snow that fell at the end of each year. It was during that time that he stopped feeling; he stopped caring. He had no choice but to disconnect himself from the world surrounding him, otherwise shouldering the grief of every person who stepped through the gates would simply be too much to bear.

Ludwig grew numb and grey and unfeeling as the stone his statue was carved from, and he looked out on the graveyard with dull, grey, unseeing eyes. When people knelt below his plinth to speak of their loved ones, he stopped listening, and when they asked him desperate questions, their voices chocked with sobs, he stopped trying to give answers.

He never went to speak to Aldrich as hatred for the man still boiled in his gut whenever an unpleasant memory resurfaced, unbidden. Instead, he endured the unforgiving seasons and unending years alone.

During the short summer nights, his mind was filled with fear. He had only a few hours of wandering the desolate walls of the graveyard; only a few hours of such a pitiful excuse for freedom that it terrified him. He spent the long, hot summer days in a dazed, half-sleep state in which strange, unrecognisable creatures chased painfully familiar, echoing voices through his lucid dreams, and when he awoke, everything that had occurred within them escaped his memory.

During the cool autumn nights, he climbed the trees dividing the graveyard into two that grew along with him, as high as he could, pretending he could reach the clouds. He collected leaves that sung with bright, beautiful colors from sky-high, slender branches, watching their hue deaden and dull as the leaves withered, curling in on themselves as they dried out and died. He lay on his back in the grass amongst the golds and russet browns and vermillion reds of the season and tried to count the stars, drawing pictures amongst them with his finger, telling the stories in his mind to the empty air and the vast nothingness that was around to hear. During the days, he stood tall as the cold wind whipped around him, sending dead leaves dancing an eerie ballet that warned of the deep winter soon to come.

During the long winter nights, he sat against the plinth, huddled and curled into himself against the driving snow and bitter wind that threatened to consume him. He let it erode away the identity he never had until he was a shell of who he thought he once was. He gave into the pressing darkness, letting it fill the crevices of his mind, giving in being so much easier than resisting. As he grew out of childhood, his body and mind fitting the shape of the statue, he couldn’t help but wonder that if in the end, this really was death.

But in the springtimes, Ludwig was rewarded with the chance to gain back a little piece of what he’d given up in the rest of the year. He spent the slowly warming nights carefully building gardens, carefully tending to shoots growing through the mantle of snow, carefully moving plants to create vibrant areas of color. He would feel his heart swell with pride as people walking amongst the gravestones would smile down at the flowers nodding in the breeze, maybe picking one to lay lovingly in front of a tombstone. But through the years as the flow of people lessened, Ludwig came to realise that in the end, he was doing it for himself more than anything. Seeing the flowers grow up from nothing, year upon year, and filling the graveyard with little patches of cheer made him feel as if he was being handed back pieces of himself, little by little, with each new flower that bloomed.

And with every spring day that passed, he felt the crisp, clean, cool air around him, saw the diamond drops of rain that scattered across everything and made it sparkle in the warm sunlight, and the satin-bright petals of the flowers soaked it all up, and Ludwig found he could only feel happy. He never minded the variable weather, as no matter what may happen, everywhere there was beauty. And it was only during the spring that he truly felt that he was in a peaceful place.

Particularly as the years wore on and people stopped taking the trouble to visit the graves of their ancestors, the memory of a person once so important now faded to just a single murmur deep in the back of their minds, the graveyard became a quiet and serene place. Many days he would watch as a fox slunk through the old and crumbling gates, stealing out into the quiet forest, or he would listen to the merry chatter of little birds alighting on headstones and branches. He would watch the soft, almost imperceptible whisper of a breeze touch the dew-soaked crocuses that carpeted the ground in vivid oranges, purples and creams. A fat bumblebee lazily landing on a sunny yellow daffodil, scattering the raindrops as it did so.

Many days, Ludwig was simply at peace.

But it was on one of these peaceful spring days that everything, suddenly, uncontrollably and stunningly, began to change.

It was late afternoon, nearing evening, and the light that was thrown over the world was a rich, warm golden. A thin, crisp mantle of snow still covered the ground, partially melted in places where the young shoots of spring flowers were pushing their way through. A few early blooms dotted the white in places; the first splashes of brightness growing their way back into Ludwig’s dull and empty life. He had left the depth of winter behind him weeks ago, and with no desire to remember the darkness that rolled around every year, he focused determinedly on what was in front of him.

He stood silently, still as usual, patiently awaiting the sunset. He passed the time watching the rabbits play, hopping around the crumbling tombstones, chasing each other with boundless energy and seemingly without a care in the world or knowledge of the hundreds of individual tragedies they leaped around. Nevertheless, it brought a smile to his face, shy and small as it was.

Throughout the many years he had spent alone, Ludwig had grown to be stoic, silent and serious, although he did not realise it himself. Not being able to interact with people but being able to watch them at their worst had led him to become startlingly perceptive of people’s needs, although bad at expressing and dealing with complex emotions. And, unwittingly, he had taken influence from Aldrich’s harsh treatment of him as a child, and had become headstrong, determined and unyielding in the face of adversity.

All of this he had yet to discover, as centuries of solitude had not provided him with an opportunity to, his only companions throughout the years being rabbits and birds, although they did not provide much company.

The golden light caught the droplets of snowmelt on the leaves and the branches as they fell through the air, deafening in the evening silence. They scattered as a breeze shook the bare twigs and for a moment hung like diamonds in mid-air. The wind caressed his stony face, cool and leisurely. He watched as a couple of rabbits scampered playfully into their snow-covered burrow. The world was as it always was, turning as it always turned, and Ludwig was content.

Night would fall soon, and he would have the time to get some exercise and to watch the stars, telling his own stories to himself as he had done as a child, having only the sky and the wind to listen to his tales. 

Everything stopped, snapped into focus. There was a faint sound, disturbing the half-twilight silence. Rhythmic, steady, crunching in the thin snow.

Could it be?

Of course not.

He was imagining it.

Silence.

Nothing there.

He willed his thundering heart to still, willed the adrenaline rushing through his veins to go. There was nothing there. There was nothing here anymore. There was simply nothing.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

There it was again! A regular rhythm, almost imperceptibly silent, yet striking louder than his thudding heartbeat.

And what was that? It was a clear sound, brighter than birdsong, and it filled his heart with light. He let its cheerful notes fill his mind, let the unshakable soft _crunch_ set the rhythm, growing steadily louder as it drew slowly closer.

And then suddenly the source of that sound was in front of him, barred behind the old and crumbling gates.

He felt his heart begin to pound faster than before, and he was sure that even outside the silent stone it could be clearly heard. A heady heat stained his cheeks and made his head swim, and he had to take deep, almost gasping breaths to calm himself. It was a thoroughly confusing reaction. But it had been so _long_.

The gates rattled and his focus snapped back to reality. A young man stood behind them, face knitted in determination. He had stopped humming, and instead pushed at the gates, straining against the ancient chain that held them. His feet slid backwards on the muddy ground, and arms flailing, he almost slipped, but caught himself just in time.

Frowning, he stood up again and sized up to the gates, crossing his arms in a comically serious display of frustration. The chains that ensnared the gate were old and flaking, crumbling away and beginning to rust while moss and algae shrouded it like skin. Each link of the chain was falling to pieces, thin enough to be broken if the right force was applied. And this was clearly the very thought running through the man’s mind, as at that moment, he took a preparatory step backwards, braced himself, and threw his entire weight at the graveyard gates.

For a split second, Ludwig thought that it wasn’t going to work. The man’s small form seemed to hang in midair, the gates straining against his weight.

But then the chain snapped, small fragments of rusted metal flying through the air and scattering onto the snow. With the release, the momentum carried on through and the man went hurtling through the air, before gravity caught up with him and with a small cry, he collapsed face-first into the thin layer of snow on the ground.

Abruptly, he sat up, slightly dazed, with twigs and grass and bits of mud stuck to his wet coat. His auburn hair was ruffled and had a leaf resting on it.

Looking at the character before him, this complete stranger who had burst into this lonely and forgotten place when he least expected it, Ludwig was struck with the sudden and entirely unexpected urge to laugh. His chest and his mind sung with amusement, and it was such a pure, joyous feeling that he felt as if he had been given new life.

Brushing himself off, the man stood up carefully, and began to wander amongst the headstones, taking the time to read every one as he passed. After a time he began to hum again, stepping jauntily as he walked, or spinning in a circle before stooping to smell the flowers. A trail of footprints was left in the shallow snow in winding trails that traced his every move, as he twirled between the trees, as he wove around the headstones. The whole graveyard seemed to light up with the joy of the fading day. Dappled sunlight fell across his body, bathing him in glorious gold, turning his hair to amber. Ludwig was entranced.

The man sang as he crossed the graveyard to the other side, the notes high and clear and flowing like the melting snow; a clear trickle building to a river, signifying the change that covered the earth, of old giving way to new. Ludwig’s heart soared with the music, the tune comforting and somehow familiar and wrapping him in warmth. It was an unbelievably liberating feeling.

And then the man stopped singing, stumbled, and fell to his knees with a small, anguished sound. It was such a profound difference to just moments ago that Ludwig almost gasped, and he felt a cold, hollow emptiness settle into his bones almost at once. The man reached forward with a soft cry, fingers caressing the worn, crumbling and icy cold headstone in front of him. The sadness on his face was enough to break Ludwig’s heart. It was clear that whoever was buried there had been dearly loved. Ludwig felt a stirring deep in his chest, and it took him a few seconds to realise what it was -- he wanted, more than anything, to reach out and touch the man.

It was as if a door deep within him, locked for centuries, was beginning to open, shuddering as it did so, stones and dust showering from its age-old face. There was a light shining from within it, spilling through the tiny crack and onto the floor, casting tiny rays of golden, honeyed warmth into the surrounding darkness. Something was changing, something was rising up from the past; something wise and old and very, very precious, though Ludwig could not grasp what it might be.

His gaze found the man again, kneeling in front of the ancient and crumbling headstone, and something powerful struck through him. _The headstone_. It was the child’s grave, the one he had witnessed the memorial for not long after he had found himself so utterly alone. It was the one he felt could give him answers.

It was then that he knew that he had to talk to the man. This strange newcomer, someone new, someone who he had only just met -- suddenly he became the most important person in the world. He would know something. He _had_ to. He recognised the grave of Otto Beilschmidt, the child unknown to him who was so strangely familiar, the one name in the lonely graveyard that was weighed so heavily with meaning, the one name that Ludwig _knew_ would lead him to an answer. The man _had_ to know. After 200 years of waiting, of wandering, lost; for the man to just walk away now would be too cruel of a joke.

But the world was against him. The sun still hadn’t set.

The dappled amber light shining through the trees that had seemed so beautiful just minutes ago now seemed to be mocking him, reminding him of just how little control he had over his own life. Time was ticking, and menacingly so, as every second that passed meant that the man was one second closer to leaving. Because no one stays at a graveyard after dark.

Ludwig knew that. He knew it almost more than anything else. For all the lonely years he had passed trapped within these low, crumbling walls, not one single person had ever been late to leave. Not even in the early days, when there were still many visitors, or during the years following that, when there had been many funerals; the hour before sunset, every day, someone had locked the gates, and there had been no visitors until the next morning when they were opened again. Until one morning, no one had come to re-open the gates. And it had stayed that way, for years and years. There had been no exception.

And there was no reason for there to be an exception now.

Ludwig wanted to scream.

The sun had dipped its head below the horizon, amber fading to a washed-out red as the half-light of dusk hung over the world. But it wasn’t enough.

His legs were still stone and were still shrouded by moss. The sword beneath his hands still flaked and crumbled away. The harsh folds of his clothes had softened with the wear of the years, but they still remained rigid and his face still remained cold. 

The man at the headstone lay slumped against it, still in the thin snow. He breathed slowly, deep and even, and it took Ludwig some seconds to realise that the man was asleep. The scene was peaceful, deeply so, and Ludwig felt his racing heart begin to slow. He watched as the man breathed in the fading light, feeling his own body begin to lighten, and his mind begin to swirl. The sensation overcame him slowly, gently. He had experienced it time after time and knew its every motion now like an old friend, etched deep into his bones. It let him know that everything was all right with the world.

But not now. How could he be sure, when everything, after so long, was changing?

His heart thumped, powerful in his chest, as the final rays of ashen light faded from the sky, and he felt the last of the weight of the stone holding him down lift off his body. He could hardly see the vague shape of the man in the darkness anymore, and for the first time in many years, he felt a familiar sensation settle in his chest: he was afraid.

Cautiously, he stepped off the plinth and made his way through the darkness of the graveyard to where he knew the headstone was, and where the man lay.

His footsteps crunched in the snow as he walked, and as he stepped closer he was careful to tread gently so as not to alarm the sleeping stranger. He didn’t want to wake him, yet at the same time, he almost couldn’t resist the urge to find out more. But no. he must act sensibly and logically at a time such as this; he must act in a way that he knew he could rely on, because it was likely that it was all he could. Carefully, he crept up to the sleeping form, wincing at the very audible crunch of ever step he took, the rustle of his clothes, every sound seeming magnified. He stopped next to him and stood over him for a second, watching his calm, unhurried breaths. It was somehow incredibly soothing. Ludwig began to smile before stopping suddenly, realising something was wrong. It was difficult to spot from his plinth, and so he hadn’t seen it until he was up close, but now he stood over the man it was obvious how much he was shivering.

Ludwig frowned, contemplating his options. He could leave him as he was, but somehow he felt that that particular option was not a good choice, because the man might even die if he was left out in the cold for too long. He could try and warm him up himself… Ludwig blushed at the sudden and surprisingly vivid mental image of himself cradling the man in his arms. That was more than a step too far for someone he hadn’t ever even spoken to, without question. So that option was definitely not available to him. He could try and move the man to somewhere warmer, but in doing that he would risk waking him, and besides, he couldn’t really think of a warmer place within the confines of the graveyard, anyway. He brightened a little as another idea struck him – it seemed good, and logical. He would go with that.

Shrugging off his jacket, he shivered in the crisp night air. Gently, he laid it over the sleeping figure on the ground. It was all he could do for now, but it was certainly better than nothing. Satisfied with his work, Ludwig took a couple of steps away and settled himself on a fallen headstone after brushing the snow off.

He could pass the night like this. He wouldn’t mind.

-

Several hours later, the man began to stir.

Ludwig was roused from his trance-like state of staring distantly somewhere between the man and the air between them, and he sat up straighter, eager to see the man’s first action.

Several paces in front of him, the dark shape in front of the headstone shifted, then groaned, before sitting up slowly and stretching, Ludwig’s jacket falling from his shoulders. The man looked at it in confusion, and Ludwig noted with gentle amusement that there was grass and the imprint of twigs on the man’s cheek.

The man squinted sleepily in the half light at the jacket on the snowy ground. He picked it up and turned it in his hands, seemingly trying to remember whether he’d had it when he walked through the graveyard gates. He shivered and brushed the grass off his cheek, as if suddenly waking up to his surroundings.

With a gasp, he pushed himself off the ground, looking around frantically, the realisation that he had fallen asleep dawning on him. With a torn expression, he left Ludwig’s jacket draped carefully over the top of the leaning headstone. He spoke quickly while brushing grass and snow from his trousers.

“I didn’t realise the time, I must have fallen asleep. You know how it is, huh? I can fall asleep anywhere…” he laughed softly and reached out a hand to run over the top of the headstone. “I have to go, okay? I’m sorry about that… but now that I’ve found you again, I’ll come back tomorrow. I’ll come back the next day too, and the day after that, and then I’ll keep coming back, but for now I have to get back otherwise Lovino will be mad, he’s always so grouchy when I stay out late and never tell him so I’m going now, goodbye-“

“No.”

The word was so quiet that Ludwig wasn’t even aware that he’d said it until the man froze and looked sharply in his direction, expression melting into fear.

Ludwig stood up. He’d outed himself. There was nothing else to hide.

“No.” he said again, louder.

The man slowly began to unfreeze from the shock and was slowly backing away, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to stammer something, but Ludwig cut him off.

“Don’t go.” His voice crumbled like the headstone between them.

“You-“

“I-“

They both stopped, and there was a beat of silence.

“You’re…” the man squinted through the darkness at him, wary. His voice shook slightly. “Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m Ludwig.” He said finally.

“Why are you here, Ludwig?”

“I couldn’t tell you if I tried.”

“Am I… dreaming?”

“Not unless I’m dreaming too, which is unlikely. So no.”

“Then I – I need to go home. I stayed out too long, I didn’t realise, I-“

“No, you can’t-“

“Ludwig… I-“ he looked at him with pleading eyes. “I have to go home.” He finished quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Ludwig looked away, pretending that there weren’t tears of frustration and defeat pricking at the edges of his eyes.” There was the crunch of a single footstep in the thin snow.

“Here’s your jacket.” The man’s gentle voice struck through him. He turned to see the man holding out his jacket back to him, head bowed. He took it. the man began to walk away. Every step was as if the vice on his heart was squeezing harder.

“Wait.” The man stopped. Ludwig hesitated. “Before you go. What’s your name?”

The man turned back to look at him. “Feliciano.”

“Then, Feliciano,”

“Yes?”

“Please come back tomorrow.”

Maybe it was the cold night air. Maybe it was the pleading look in his eyes, or the desperate tone of his voice, but something made the fear in Feliciano’s eyes dissipate slightly. His gaze softened.

“Okay.”

And then he was gone. The graveyard gate squeaked as it swung shut, and Ludwig still stood where he was, holding his jacket. He watched the sun rise with a strange sensation settled over him that he couldn’t quite place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all!   
> As I said in the chapter 1 notes, I got really stuck with writing anything remotely romantic, and so I really ended up losing momentum on this fic. I'm lowkey annoyed at myself for not finishing this one in particular, because I really was so close.   
> Sorry I made Germania so mean and grumpy in this one haha, and there are probably a bunch of confusing things since this was my first fanfic and I don't have any notes. Apologies.   
> Anyway, that's it - I don't have any other fics. I hope you enjoyed reading what I do have, and if you'd like to use any of the AUs, feel free! If you'd like to use anything I've written, go ahead, just please tag/credit me. I'd love to see what you write, even if I'm not in the fandom anymore :)


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